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Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2011 with funding from 
The Library of Congress 



http://www.archive.org/details/marblehouseotherOOgate 




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Ellen M. Huntington Gates 

Woodcut engraved by Timothy Cole after the drawing 
by Alphaeus P. Cole 



The 
Marble House 

And Other Poems 

By 

Ellen M. Huntington Gates 



- 

- 

»3» 



G. P. Putnam's Sons 

New York and London 

XLbc Iftnicfcerbocfter press 

1921 






Copyright, 192 1, by- 
Helen Granville-Barker 



All rights reserved 



Printed in the United States of America 



A^. 




AUG 20 mi 



J 



§)CU624033 



PREFACE 

My mother was the eleventh child of William 
and Elizabeth Vincent Huntington, and was 
born in the town, then a village, of Torrington, 
Connecticut. 

As she grew old her mind, as always happens 
with old people, was much occupied with her 
childhood and early youth. After she was 
eighty she began to write down some of her 
earliest memories : 

" We were very patriotic in those days. At home 
we heard so much talk of George Washington that 
he seemed like a demi-god,. and we used to weep 
when we heard of Lafayette's visit to this country. 
In many of the houses of our town there were old 
scarlet coats, with gilt buttons, which had been 
taken from the Hessians. 

" These made a gallant show on Independence 
Day. I remember that one was spread over a chair 
on our front porch and that the whole town was gay 
with them." 

She wrote, too, about the first school she went 
to; when she was four years old: — il an infant 
school kept by Miss Sybil Eggleston. Of my 

iii 



iv Preface 

education in that school I can only recall that she 
taught us the names of our five senses. 

" We stood in a straight row, with our toes on a 
crack, and repeated the names of our five senses 
loudly and earnestly. When we said 'feeling,' we 
brought our right hands down upon our left hands 
with great force. The school-room was at the top of 
a tall building, probably the Town Hall, and if I 
stood on my tip-toes and leaned far out of the win- 
dow I saw the tops of the trees where birds builded 
their nests and sang their happy songs. Under 
the trees was the insect world, ants and grasshoppers, 
and slow, crawling worms went back and forth on 
their various errands, and their world was much 
larger than they knew, or than we ourselves could 
even dream." 

The little girl of four, standing on tip-toe and 
leaning "far out of the window* ' to discover 
beauty and wonder must already have been what 
my Mother remained all her life. For it was 
always mystery that called to her most loudly; 
the mystery of elemental things : fire, light, and 
air, the sea and the clouds, the mystery of the 
puzzling, alien life in birds and beasts and plants. 
But, far beyond these, dominating, indeed, all 
her poetic thought, was the mystery of death. 

In her deeper self, in her moments of inspi- 
ration, she seemed always to be pausing and 
lingering at the entrance of that Marble House, 



Preface v 

listening wistfully for some whisper from within 
it, straining her eyes to see through its shadows. 

She was of a generation which read poets to- 
day neglected, but which derived its literary 
culture from older and nobler sources ; from the 
Old Testament, John Milton, Bunyan, Addison, 
and Pope. 

The spirit of New England, its reticence in 
personal emotion, its flaming conscience, 
breathed through all she wrote. In her daily life 
she was fun-loving, full of originality, whimsical 
often, but, in her work, she belonged to her race 
and her age, and so seemed, at times, to be like 
some delicate shell reverberating with the mighty 
rhythm of thoughts remote from her individual 
thought. 

When she was iniier tenth year, and after she 
had moved, with her mother, to Oneonta, New 
York, to be near her brothers, Solon and Collis 
Huntington, who were established there, she wrote 
her first verses, an acrostic on "Affection." She 
used, laughing heartily, to quote the first lines : 

" Affection is of peerless worth 
Fain would I worship at its hearth." 

But I think she was prouder of her early 
attempts as an artist when, as a pupil "at Miss 
Lavinia Herrick's school" she was taught to 
embroider, to draw, and to paint in water-colors. 



vi Preface 

"We painted slowly and carefully, and our 
wonderful pictures of cultivated and field flowers 
were the pride and delight of our homes." 

When she grew to be a young woman she was 
sent to what was known as the "Female Semi- 
nary " at Hamilton, New York, and used to tell 
how she left one morning before it was light — " I 
wonder that I was allowed to do so!" — and by 
stage-coach, as there were no railways then in 
that section, and how she delightedly recognized 
in a fellow-traveler, her old friend, Loomis 
Campbell (how quaintly these names echo now !) 
who was on her way to Madison University, also 
at Hamilton. 

The University and the Seminary furnished 
the Society of Hamilton — " Our leisure hours were 
filled with parties and social gatherings in the 
hospitable homes of the village" she wrote. " The 
President of Madison University at that time was 
Dr. George W. Eaton , and at his beautiful home, 
'Woodland Heights,' all the young people were 
frequently entertained." It was an idyllic time 
in her life — these years at Hamilton. She had 
one particularly dear and haunting memory of the 
trailing rose branches that Mrs. Eaton drew in 
over the low window-sills to adorn her drawing- 
room. 

Among the students at the University were the 
two brothers Oliver and Edwin Gates; the latter, 
seven or eight years later became her husband. 



Preface vii 

While she was still at school her first poem 
"Your Mission/' was printed in the New York 
Examiner and the Cooperstown Journal. It was 
widely copied, set to music, and sung at many 
concerts. 

Abraham Lincoln heard it sung by Philip 
Phillips at the Congressional Hall in Washington 
and wrote on a slip of paper (long carefully 
preserved) "Ask Mr. Phillips to repeat 'Your 
Mission.' Do not say that I asked for it." 
This, in spite of the ambiguousness of the last 
half of the message, was fame, indeed, for a 
school-girl. 

The poem was translated, it was said, into 
seven languages, but its author used to protest, 
with charming humility, "that seems hardly 
possible!" 

The first ten or twelve years of her married life 
were spent in Wisconsin, and there she watched 
the State troops departing for the Civil War. 

But the great tragedy of all that tragic epoch 
must have been, for her, the murder of Lincoln, 
for it was on that her mind dwelt, most, in her 
memories, and that which inspired the one poem 
she wrote of the War: " Lincoln Has Fallen." 

In the '7o's she returned to the East and from 
then until her death her home was either in the 
vicinity of New York or in New York itself. 

Her married life was long and of unceasing 
affection, she had many devoted friends and, 



viii Preface 

especially in her old age, took among most of her 
kinsfolk a place of almost consecrated leadership ; 
but, in spite of all those human ties, her inner 
mind, I think, was most concerned with its 
visions. 

Much of the talk that went on in her presence 
seemed, after a while, to become irksome to 
her; one saw her sitting, by preference, a little 
apart from the others, with her eyes closed and a 
look of serene detachment on her beautifully cut 
face. 

It was at such moments, perhaps, that her 
fancies about Light and Dark, about Time and 
Space and Eternity came to her. 

Her short-sightedness, I think, added to the 
sense of strangeness which she found in many 
of the things in nature. As she saw them only 
cloudily she became more concerned with their 
inner meanings than with their outer aspects. 

Adventure, quests among mountain-peaks, 
wide seas, and unimagined lands called to her 
until the last. 

When she was eighty-four she said in a letter : 

"J am perfectly well and strong; I could go 
anywhere, I could go to the Himalayas." 

And with this same eager courage she faced 
death. 

Though, at the end, it came to her swiftly and 
in all unconsciousness and peace, she had written 
only a short time before it : 



Preface ix 

"My slender shadow is already lengthening 
toward the West. I am neither surprised, nor 
grieved, for I know that, beyond that crimson light, 
is the country which I desire to see.* 1 

Helen Granville-Barker. 



CONTENTS 








PAGE 


The Light ....... 3 


The Dark .... 








7 


Detachment 








10 


The Cry of the Earthly . 








11 


The Body to the Soul 








12 


The Claimants . 








16 


The Artist and his Art 








17 


To-morrow 








19 


A Passing Soul . 








20 


A Name .... 








22 


Salvage .... 








23 


A Little Bird . 








24 


Poverty .... 








25 


The Potter and the Clay 








26 


Prescience 








28 


Death .... 








29 


The Cup of Youth 








30 


Courtesy 








• 3i 


Pain ..... 








• 32 


Sincerity . 








• 33 



XI 



Xll 



Contents 



PAGE 



A Great Man 


34 


Joy 


35 


Out of the Dusk ..... 


36 


My Rose 


. 38 


The Last Days ...... 


40 


How Wilt thou Go? .... 


4i 


The Last Opinion . . . 


42 


The Children's Country . . . 


43 


The Old Daguerreotype 


45 


My Shadow ....... 


47 


"Whatever Tears mine Eyes May Weep" 


49 


A Statue ....... 


50 


Others 


52 


We Love but Few 


53 


Idleness ....... 


55 


Room ........ 


57 


The Last Meeting 


58 


The Treasures of Kurium 


60 


"Through a Glass, Darkly" 


. 62 


The Prayers 


64 


Haunted ....... 


. 65 


On Christmas Day ..... 


66 


"I am Old," Said the Earth . 


68 


Sleep Sweet 


69 


The Butterflies . 


70 



Contents xiii 

PAGE 

Sunset 72 

For Weal or Woe 74 

Two Dreams 76 

Beyond ........ 78 

After the Storm ...... 79 

The Yellow Rose ...... 80 

Loneliness . . . . . .81 

A Little Love 82 

This Only ....... 83 

Unsatisfied ....... 84 

Dear Hope of mine 85 

A New Guest . . . . . . .86 

" Lest ye be Judged" 87 

Joy 88 

A Lie 89 

A Prayer for Help . . . . . .91 

A Soul 93 

At Last ........ 94 

A Voice 95 

A Tree 96 

To the Unborn Peoples 97 

The Peacemakers . . . . . .100 

O Helen, Helen Dear! . . . . .102 

A Song of Victory 104 

Out of the Depths ...... 106 



XIV 



Contents 













PAGE 


Eternity ........ 107 


Two Houses 










109 


Personality 










III 


Come, Sweetheart, Come 










• 113 


"Trace thou the Path" 










■ US 


In Darkened House 










. Il6 


A New Prayer . 










118 


After Death 










• 119 


A Drive at Nice 










121 


A Gleam of Crimson 










■ 123 


The Bars of Fate 










■ 125 


Little People . 










127 


Love and Hate . 










129 


Lovers 










130 


The Eagle's Brood 










131 


Farewell . 










132 


The Great Wheel 










133 


Apart . . ; 










134 


In the Fog 










135 


Gifts 










136 


Illusions . 


- 








137 


Personal Desires 










138 


Strength . 










141 


The Sea . 










I42 


Remembered Mirth . 










144 



Contents 



xv 













PAGE 


Renunciation 145 


Myself .... 










I46 


Man and the Sun 










147 


To .... 










I48 


The Void .... 










149 


When .... 










150 


The Way .... 










151 


Losses 










153 


The Marble House . 










154 


Recognition 










159 


At Noonday 










161 


September Thirtieth 










163 


A Storm at Night 










. 166 


Little Miss Fanny . 










. 168 


Bread upon the Waters 










171 


Your Mission . 










• 173 


Annuals and Acorns 










• 175 


The Grapes of Eschol 










177 


Beautiful Hands 










179 


My Mother's Picture 










. 181 


My Child . 










• 183 


"Lincoln Has Fallen!" 










185 


Is your Lamp Burning? 










. I8 7 


Somebody's Working for Somebody 






. 188 


"The Mistletoe Bough" 


. 


. 






I89 



THE MARBLE HOUSE 



THE LIGHT 

Stand up, stand up, behold the light! 
I come, the long belated one. 
The curtains of the dark are rent, 
Uprises sea and continent, 
And plain across astonished skies 
On endless roads my chariot flies. 
On worlds that widen evermore 
God's own eternal light shall pour. 

My sister Darkness sat alone, 
Unmoved, unconscious, still as stone, 
With naught to take and naught to lose ; 
In awful cold, the slime and ooze 
Sucked softly and no foolish fears 
Disturbed the peace of hemispheres. 

And there were sapphires bright and blue, 
And shapeless diamonds without hue, 
And there was never song nor word, 
The under earth was still unstirred 
'Til suddenly my rays were flung 
Across a world new-made and young. 
I touched the depths that hold the gold, 
In deepest mines I backward rolled. 

3 



The Light 

The awful black that filled the space 
Wherein my living fires should race. 

First came the rocks and one by one 
They formed the earth's great skeleton. 
The undivided sea and land 
Lay motionless, no human hand 
Had flung a seed in furrows deep, 
There were no springs to downward leap, 
No winds across the earth to sweep. 
In darkest depths were slabs of jade 
And whitest marble, slowly laid 
And kept for monuments to be 
When God should separate the sea 
From the dry land, when Time should be. 

How old am I? God only knows; 

Far up among unmelted snows 

My beams came down like ponderous blows. 

The shrieking ice before me fled 

And named my name to quick and dead. 

I said to scented spice and wood, 

"Come forth and end earth's solitude. " 

Not yet from heavenly height had come 

The loud clear word that rang as far 

As God's unnumbered aeons are. 

The senseless worm that slowly crawls 
'Neath roots of trees and crumbling walls 
And gnaws, the roots of roses fair 
Must welcome give; my rays are there 



The Light 

As on the bones of mastodons. 
Impartial, glorious, I can tell 
Where walk the feet of Rafael. 
On earth or sea or depth or height 
There's nothing half so swift as light. 

My rays fell down on Sinai old 
When all the mountain was ablaze 
And God's great glory on it shone, 
When Moses talked with God alone. 

Where dark monsoons and mistrals cry 

As summoned by a trumpet call 

Into the pockets of the sky 

I fling myself, I make no cry. 

I feel no sense of wrong or right, 

All passionless and pale the light 

That has no soul but simply came 

When far beyond all suns aflame 

The unseen forces named my name. 

Wherever human races are 

I wrap around them fold on fold; 

They feel no weight of band or bar, 

They laugh and weep, they sing and cheer 

In God's unnoticed atmosphere. 

I, I am but a thought of God, 

A shining mite when time was young, 

A swift and radiant energy. 

My sparks across His world I flung. 

No mortal man may measure me 



The Light 

Nor weigh me in his shaking scales. 
Should any say, "How long, O sun, 
Before thy wondrous race is done?" 
I cannot tell, I may go far 
As God's most high archangels are. 

They watch me well, for well they know 
That unextinguished I shall glow, 
For long as God's own love shall be 
Must heaven and earth have need of me. 

I am the light that fills the space 
Unoccupied, I know the seas 
Where clouds like frightened creatures race. 
Shall I be one when Time is done, 
When at the last great legions come? 
Shall I be joined with larger light 
And with all earthly honors come 
When God's own chariot swings in sight? 



THE DARK 

I am the Dark, the ageless one; 
Before the days and years begun, 
I hovered, formless, silent, cold, 
And filled the void. No page unrolled 
Makes mention of my timeless reign ; 
No rock on mountain-top or plain, 
By scar or symbol now can tell 
The secrets that I know so well. 

I am the Dark, the first to be ; 

My own beginning baffles me. 

I seemed a thing apart, forgot, 

Which was — because the Light was not. 

I dwelt with Chaos: place I kept 

As atom unto atom crept, 

Till Order stood, with sinews set, 

And law with law like brothers met. 

I am the Dark, for still I stay, 
With half my kingdom wrenched away. 
There came an hour when all the black, 
A filmy screen, was folded back. 
Above me, through me, everywhere, 
Were scarlet streaks and golden glare; 

7 



8 The Dark 

And mighty winds began to blow 
The trailing mist-wreaths to and fro. 

I am the Dark. The eye that sees 
The midnight moons and Pleiades 
Must wait for me. I claim the sky 
To show the splendors swinging high 
In space so deep, and wide and black 
That thought itself comes trembling back. 
The Sun may show the sea and sod, 
But I— the far-off fields of God! 

I am the Dark. My paths I keep; 
No hour too soon the light may creep 
Above the hills, no moment late 
The Sun may reach the western gate. 
The shadows are my own; their wings 
They spread above all breathing things 
Till joy and pain, and more and less, 
Are one in sleep's unconsciousness. 

I am the Dark. The under-world, 
With soundless rivers onward whirled, 
Is mine alone; and mine the lakes 
O'er which the morning never breaks. 
I dwell in caverns, vast, unknown, 
Whose walls are wrought from primal stone ; 
There Silence, Death, and I can wait — 
Creation's grim triumvirate ! 



The Dark 

I am the Dark, and forth and back, 
As God's own servant, robed in black, 
I go and come. His dead I keep 
Within my chambers while they sleep. 
Who knows my doom? Perhaps, at last, 
I may be ended, outward cast 
From all that is, my deepest night 
Invaded by resistless light ! 



DETACHMENT 

Be silent! Let them rest; 
Why make an endless quest 

For all they said and did? 
Why drag into the light 
Their moods of black and white, 

These, with their faces hid? 

Bind, if you will, in gold, 
The tales their fancies told; 

With wonder breathe their names ; 
But always, from their art, 
Leave them in peace, apart, 

As from the ash the flames. 



10 



THE CRY OF THE EARTHLY 

Take me back, ye elements, 

Take me. Let me be 
One with isle and continent, 

Air and fire and sea. 

Wide a bridge of light is laid 
Down to earth and back; 

Let a path for me be made 
Up its glittering track. 

Call to me, ye elements; 

Break the band and bar; 
Lure me from the lonesome tents 

Where the breathless are. 

Fling my atoms to and fro ; 

All their ways control. 
Sometime, somewhere, let me know 

Starting-place and goal. 



ii 



THE BODY TO THE SOUL 

Said the body to the soul : 
You are Master, you control; 
Viewless, coming from afar, 
Mystery to yourself you are. 

I, of earthly atoms made, 
Stand erect, am not afraid; 
Must forever, as I run, 
Cast a shadow in the sun. 

All the worlds are turning round, 
We are strangers, outward bound ; 
Down the roads we do not know 
With our orders sealed we go. 

You are awful in your might ; 
Swift and strong, you feel delight 
In the movement of the years, 
In the splendor of the spheres. 

Strange companionship is ours, 
Separate lives and mingled powers; 
You will conquer time and death — 
In my nostrils is my breath. 

12 



The Body to the Soul 13 

Can you tell me when we met ? 
Know you where our bounds are set ? 
Can you see the certain line 
Where we whisper "mine" and "thine"? 

I, your comrade made of clay, 
Uncomplaining go or stay; 
Kiss your sceptre, fear your frown, 
Own your right to wear the crown. 

I have fled at your command 
O'er the burning wastes of sand; 
Heard the icebergs grind and groan 
In the lonesome Arctic Zone; 

Plunged for you beneath the waves; 
Faced the wild beasts in their caves; 
Fought your causes on the fields 
Where the foeman never yields. 

I have wasted 'neath the strain 

Of your unacknowledged pain; 

If dishonor touched your name, 

Cheek and forehead flushed with shame. 

When you conquered grief or wrong, 

I have sung the victor's song; 

In your shining, love-lit hours 

I have wreathed myself with flowers. 



14 The Body to the Soul 

Now more swiftly drop the sands 
Through the hour-glass in my hands, 
And more oft I hear you say 
I am but the hindering clay. 

I arraign you, Sovereign Soul ; 
I, the slave whom you control, 
Face you boldly ; you have done 
Scarce your part beneath the sun. 

He who made you made me too; 
In my face His breath He blew; 
In my veins, with art divine, 
Mixed the blood as red as wine. 

Since His hands have fashioned me, 
I must unforgotten be; 
If you cause me needless pain, 
He will hear His dust complain. 

Restless, wayward as the wind, 
You have suffered, you have sinned, 
Urged me onward in your pride, 
Beauty fleeing, rest denied. 

Oft my lips are parched with thirst, 
While you give me drink accurst; 
Oft I starve for bread to eat, 
While you burn the fields of wheat. 



The Body to the Soul 15 

Through his throne-room, may the King 
Send his soldiers rioting? 
While the workmen humbly toil, 
Should the priest the temple spoil ? 

Sovereign Spirit, back I throw 
Blame and failure; I shall go 
Unaffrighted to my place, 
Undishonored by my race. 

You are lonesome, homesick, tost ; 
You have learned what life can cost ; 
Leaping upward like a flame, 
You will vanish whence you came. 

Through my fibers I shall feel 
New sensations; I shall reel, 
Drooping earthward, be a part 
Of old Nature's peaceful heart. 

Soul of mine, if e'er you pass 
Lake of heaven, as smooth as glass; 
Bend above it, you may see 
Some transfigured type of me ! 



THE CLAIMANTS 

A bee in the heart of a rose 

May flutter its wings, 
But nothing it guesses or knows 

Of beautiful things. 
Should I ask of the bee, "Are they fair, 
The roses that swing in the air?" 
It would say, "They are suitable meat 
For earth's little toilers to eat." 

On outermost leaf of a rose, 

As pausing in flight, 
A butterfly rests, and it glows 

Like opals at night. 
Should I whisper, "Thou gem of the air, 
For whom are the roses so fair?" 
It would tell me they fell from the sky, 
God's gift to his gay butterfly! 

A worm, at the root of a rose, 

Gnaws on in the dark ; 
It sees not the way that it goes, 

It hears not the lark. 
Should I lean from my place in the tower 
To question the worm of the flower, 
It would answer, "The rose-tree is made 
That worms may live under the shade." 

16 



THE ARTIST AND HIS ART 

Well the artist loves his art, 
Hides it deep within his heart; 
Patient with his changeful moods, 
It pervades his solitudes. 

If he be not swift to go 
Where the bugles loudest blow, 
In his dream or vision vast, 
He will build the things that last. 

He must lure from wood and stone 
Glorious forms to face his own; 
Somehow, with a simple pen, 
Write the songs that gladden men. 

He will capture fleeting shapes; 
Show the tree the tempest shakes ; 
Paint the sacred thought that lies 
In the depth of human eyes. 

He can make the cities fair, 
Lift cathedrals in the air; 
Where the arches highest spring, 
Send his music thundering. 

* 17 



1 8 The Artist and His Art 

Yet within the artist's breast 
Shall be longing, vague unrest; 
Form and color, swift as light, 
Will evade him in their flight. 

Sometimes, even with his own, 
He shall dwell apart, alone; 
Dearest friend may fail to guess 
Half his joy or loneliness. 

Hope may falter, Love may die, 
Fame may cease to signify ; 
But his art will always be 
Comrade, Guide, good company. 



TO-MORROW 

To-morrow, to-morrow, you insolent shadow, 
You torture and tease me and strike at my 
soul ; 

But I shall go forward and leave you behind me, 
A ghost unremembered when I'm at the goal. 



19 



A PASSING SOUL 

I pray you, pause; awhile forget 
The trifling things of every day; 

For here, as moonlight lingers yet, 
A Soul is passing on its way. 

Still toils the heart, a faithful thing 

That questioned not nor asked for ease; 

But now it tires; at life's deep spring 
The crimson currents fail and freeze. 

The eyes that answered ours so long 

Can see us not — we drift away 
Like summer clouds, a transient throng 

Of shapes they looked on yesterday. 

Thou passing Soul, so close the clasp 
Of vibrant nerve and surging blood; 

'Tis hard to go, to reach and grasp, 
In blinding dark, the hand of God. 

What countless cords must broken be, 
What strange adjustments must be made, 

Before the prisoned soul is free 
From earth's hard rule and long parade! 

20 



A Passing Soul 21 

New thought invades the darkening brain, 
The lips are stiffening with a smile; 

No more the doubt or fear or pain 
Of time's tempestuous little-while. 

Ah, look! the face is changing so, 
It seems a stranger's, even now; 

A carven face, as cold as snow : 
Before its majesty we bow! 



A NAME 

What if some night as you walked alone, 

Where waves crept up to a moonlit shore, 
There fell at your feet a strange, white stone, 
And the name of a friend was writ thereon — 
The name, and nothing more ? 

And what if the friend were worlds away, 

The name unspoken and half forgot — 
The friend you loved in a distant day, 
Whose hand, at home, in your fingers lay 
When morn of the midnight whispered not ? 

And what if the stone, unearthly bright, 

Were quivering as with prisoned flame; 
And your heart leapt up with a new delight, 
And walls of paradise rose in sight, 
As you kissed the dear old name? 



22 



SALVAGE 

Now from the wreckage I arise 

And free my eyes from brine, 
And search the shore that near me lies 

For stores that still are mine. 
The seas that sucked the vessels down, 

With all their shining freight, 
I still defy. They shall not drown 

My soul's untouched estate ! 



23 



A LITTLE BIRD 

I know a little bird that sings 
Its anthem from a slender tower, 

Then from a cedar bough it swings 
And seems as fragile as a flower. 

I long to hold it in my hand 
And tell it of my passing days; 

I wish to make it understand 
How much I love its little ways. 

But ah! the bird is wondrous wise; 

It sits superior in its place 
Till something calls it, and it flies 

And flings its shadow in my face. 

Up ! up it goes ! an atom fine 

That knows the secrets of the Blue, 

And meets with no restraining line 
Among the clouds it passes through. 

What thing is this that God has made 
And set between the earth and sky, 

So blithe and small, yet unafraid 
Among His thunderbolts to fly? 
24 



POVERTY 

You shall have love — your share of it ; 

And honor, too, may be your own; 
And gold perhaps, and care of it; 

Yet shall you whisper, when alone : 

Whatever heart may envy me } 

I am as poor as I can be. 



25 



THE POTTER AND THE CLAY 

Thou, Thou art the Potter, and we are the Clay, 
And morning and evening, and day after day 
Thou turnest Thy wheel, and our substance is 

wrought 
Into form of Thy will, into shape of Thy thought. 

Thou, Thou art the Potter, the wheel turns 

around, 
Thine eyes do not leave it. Our atoms are 

ground 
Fine, fine in Thy mills. O the pain and the cost ! 

Thou knowest their number; no one shall be 
lost. 



Should Clay to the Potter make answer and say, 
' 'Now what dost Thou fashion ?" Thy hand 

would not stay. 
Untiring, resistless, without any sound, 
True, true to its Master, the wheel would go 

round. 



How plastic are we as we lie in Thy hands; 
Who, who like the Potter the Clay understands? 
Thy ways are a wonder, but oft, as a spark, 
Some hint of Thy meaning shines out in the dark. 

26 



The Potter and the Clay 27 

What portion is this for the sensitive clay ! 
To be beaten and molded from day unto day, 
To answer not, question not, just to be still, 
And know Thou art shaping us unto Thy will. 

This, this may we plead with Thee, workman 

divine : 
Press deep in our substance some symbol of 

Thine, 
Thy name or Thy image, and let it be shown 
That Thou wilt acknowledge the work as Thine 

own. 



PRESCIENCE 

Some there are — we know their names — 

On whom Nature sets her seals, 
Moves them in her mighty games, 

Somehow to their sense reveals 
Secrets that no searcher finds ; 

In their hands she lays a thread 
That forever winds and winds, 

Underground and overhead. 

These are they who feel the whir 

Of the eagles' awful wings, 
Ere beyond the cliff they stir 

With resistless winno wings. 
Lone they are, the prescient ones; 

'Mid to-day's persistent roar 
They behold the couriers run 

From to-morrow's opening door. 

When the waiting kingdoms call 

They can hear the kings reply ; 
Plain they see the serpent crawl 

Back to Eden's gate to die. 
While they wait with lifted hands, 

While they watch with wondering eyes, 
You, that halfway understand, 

Pray for souls so strangely wise! 
28 



DEATH 

White and inscrutable, soundless, alone; 
Over the beautiful building thy throne, 
Stately, victorious, making thy claim; 
Over the glorious writing thy name. 

Calm, unassailable, fixed in thy seat ; 
Swords, unavailable, break at thy feet; 
Kings in their palaces pale at thy sign; 
Deep in their chalices freezes the wine. 

Words can not reach to thee, backward they 

come; 
Love stands beseeching thee, still thou art dumb ; 
Youth in its loveliness, babes of an hour, 
Age with its loneliness, all are thy dower. 

Thou, when thou findest one worn to the heart, 
Then thou art kindest one, taking his part; 
Men their Gethsemanes leave at thy call; 
Thou, from their enemies, savest them all. 



29 



THE CUP OF YOUTH 

What if some day upon your door 
A hand should knock as to implore 

Your swift attention, and you rose 
With smiling lips, as one who knows 

A friend has come; when lo! a face 
You ne'er had seen in any place 

Should look at you, a hand lift up 
Before your eyes a crystal cup 

Which held the draught by poets sung, 
The water that should make you young; 

Make answer, you who moan and weep, 
And babble in your troubled sleep, 

Would you not whisper, No! No! No! 
And ask your wondrous guest to go? 



30 



COURTESY 

I think we should arise and go. 

A thousand guests, and more, 
Are pressing at the outer gates, 

Or knocking at the door. 

They need the little space we take — 
How gay and strong they seem ! 

Though we are drowsing more and more, 
Their eyes are stars a-gleam. 

We'll say good-bye and leave them now- 
We thank our gracious hosts; 

But larger homes begin to call 
From all the upper coasts. 



31 



PAIN 

I know not why I came, 
Nor why I stay so long; 

No creature loves my name, 
None praise me in their song. 

On all my lonesome way, 
Men look at me and frown; 

And, be it night or day, 

They drop their curtains down. 

There's no one on the earth 
Who bids me come and stay; 

They think I check the mirth, 
And spoil the pleasant play. 

Yet in my hand is writ 

A sign I do not know; 
I pause to ponder it, 

Whichever way I go. 

It glimmers like a star, 
It whispers like a rune; 

My Own — whoe'er you are, 
Dismiss me not too soon! 
32 



SINCERITY 

Come out into the open 

And say the thing you mean; 
Let honest words be spoken 

Our sacred souls between; 
The truth again may win you, 

Your fingers take the prize; 
The spark of God within you 

Leap outward from your eyes. 



33 



A GREAT MAN 

King of himself, he seeks not earth's renown, 
But patient wends to meet his daily tasks; 

Bows not his head for laurel-wreath or crown; 
An honest wage is all he craves or asks. 

Yet is he greater than himself has dreamed, 
And men who pass him check their hurried 
pace; 

So clear a light from his clear eyes has gleamed, 
It dims the glare on street and market-place. 



34 



JOY 

My name is Joy! Come out and hear me sing, 

Unfurl your flags to-day, 
And question not, nor ask for anything 

That makes an hour's delay. 

For ah! Beloved, by chariot swift as mine 

No human feet may run; 
I fling you flowers and gems of rare design, 

And tidings from the sun ! 



35 



OUT OF THE DUSK 

Suddenly, out of the dusk 
And odor of myrrh and musk, 
Looked Yesterday, old and wise, 
With love in its faded eyes. 

Then all my hearts red blood 
Leapt in tumultuous flood. 
And I cried to the phantom: "Go, 
Lie down in your shroud of snow. 

"You are one with the worn-out moon, 
But I, in the blaze of noon, 
In the noise and the dust of strife 
Must deal with the things of life. 

"And my days, they go all ways, 
Past the doors of blame and praise, 
And whatever I keep or lack, 
I never may turn me back. 

"You were only a link in a chain, 
A blade of the grass of the plain, 
The ash where the incense burned, 
A page that I wrote and turned. 

36 



Out of the Dusk 37 

"Dear shadow, abide in peace 
And wait for the years to cease, 
And patiently watch and see 
What the Lord will do with me." 

Then Yesterday, old and wise, 
With love in its faded eyes, 
Waved long farewell, and passed 
Into the silence vast. 



MY ROSE 

My Rose ! My Rose ! I loved you so ; 
With tireless eyes I watched you grow; 
From fields afar your roots were brought, 
Your life was all my own, I thought. 

I proudly saw your leaves unfold, 
No King might buy you with his gold; 
So sweet you were, so wondrous fair 
No Queen should bind you in her hair. 

When Northern winds were loud and chill, 
And frosts were whitening vale and hill, 
I said, "Not any blast that blows 
Shall play too roughly with my Rose." 

If suns above you fiercely beat, 
I screened you from their glare and heat, 
And prayed that only gentlest dew 
And softest rain might water you. 

On shining slope, in shaded grot, 
Were countless blooms. I saw them not, 
Nor missed I them in any wise, 
Though dead they lay before my eyes. 

38 



My Rose 39 

One day, just when the Sun was low, . 
The patient Gardener, walking slow, 
Paused by my Rose-tree for a while, 
Then looked at me with curious smile. 



I scarcely dared to lift my eyes, 
I knew he was both kind and wise, 
And all too plain my heart could guess 
His gaze had pierced my selfishness. 

He spoke no word of praise or blame ; 
Just smiled on me and named my name, 
And raised his hand as if to bless ; 
Then left me there in loneliness. 

Next morn, in distant garden close, 
Deep-rooted, radiant, grew my Rose; 
I looked at it through palings tall — 
My Rose that missed me not at all ! 

How fair it was ! I grew content, 
So plain the thing the Gardener meant ; 
In days or centuries yet to be 
The rose would be returned to me ! 

And now I notice, when I pass, 

The golden sheen on grain and grass, 

And kin to me in all their needs 

Are common flowers and wayside weeds. 



THE LAST DAYS 

Ah, Dearest, these are the last, last days, 

Their moments swiftly run; 
The hills are lost in purple haze. 

We scarce can see the sun; 
With drooping wings, through endless space, 

Our old illusions flee, 
And silence comes, with sacred face, 

And stares at you and me. 

Ah, Love, my Love, in last, last days, 

How sweet the roses seem; 
While yet a little light delays, 

Back comes the morning dream. 
In tents of peace, with perfect trust 

That youth may never know, 
Though half our idols lie in dust, 

How fond the heart can grow ! 



40 



HOW WILT THOU GO? 

When all thy days are done, and Life's great 

door, 
Which let thee in, shall open wide once more 
To let thee out ; thou wanderer to and fro, 
With what equipment wilt thou rise and go? 
Wilt say farewell to earth with whimpering cries, 
And clinging hands, and backward-turning eyes? 
Or wilt thou pass as pleased as any child 
That fears no evil though the night is wild, 
But singing goes across the darkened halls, 
With swift obedience when his father calls? 



THE LAST OPINION 

Death did a wondrous thing for him, 
As cold, and clothed in white, 

And blind, and mute, and motionless, 
It held him plain in sight. 

For then we saw no fault in him ; 

We blamed ourselves and said : 
" We were mistaken. 11 One by one 

We rose, and praised the dead ! 



42 



THE CHILDREN'S COUNTRY 

She is sitting very silent in her little crimson chair, 
With the flicker of the firelight on her shining 

golden hair, 
And all pleasant things surround her, but her 

thoughts are otherwhere. 

For the little lads and lasses have a country of 

their own, 
Where, without the older people, they can 

wander off alone, 
Into dim and distant regions, that were never 

named or known. 

They are wearied with the questions and the run- 
ning to and fro, 

For some one is always saying " You must come" 
or "You must go," 

"You must read and write correctly, walking, 
talking, thus and so." 

They can turn at any moment from the figures 

on their slates, 
And the names of all the islands and the oceans 

and the states 
Disappear and are forgotten, when they see the 

shining gates 

43 



44 The Children's Country 

Of their own delightful country, where they 

wander as they please, 
On the great enchanted mountains, and among 

the fadeless trees, 
With a thousand other children, all entirely at 

their ease. 

O the happy, happy children! do they wish for 

anything? 
Book or boat or bird or picture, silken dress or 

golden ring? 
Lo! a little page will hasten and the treasure 

straight will bring. 

Is it strange the other people can not find this 

land at all. 
If they ever knew its language, it is lost beyond 

recall, 
And they only, in their dreamings, hear its music 

rise and fall. 

O the riches of the children, with this country for 

their own, 
All the splendor of its castles, every flower and 

shining stone, 
Until time itself is ended, and the worlds are 

overthrown ! 



THE OLD DAGUERREOTYPE 

O friend beloved ! one glance of yours 
Through all the changeful years endures; 

Entangled in the sun's bright rays, 
A subtle, shadowy thing, it stays 

For me to look upon and keep, 
While you are in the grave, asleep. 

Dear pleasant eyes, ye do not mark 
The dawnings, nor the evenings dark; 

The mountain-tops are white with snow; 
By country roads the wild-flowers grow; 

On new-made graves the sunbeams fall; 
Ye look straight on beyond them all. 

Sweet silent lips, once red as wine, 

What smiles and words of love were thine! 

Ye filled the air with laugh and song; 
Ye paled and trembled at the wrong; 

Whence came to you this grand control 
O'er all the passions of the soul? 

My precious friend, from year to year, 
A shade among the shadows here 

45 



46 The Old Daguerreotype 

You dwell apart, nor grieve, nor blame 
That now I seldom name your name, 

For time makes haste — the hour is late ; 
We both remember and we wait. 



MY SHADOW 

Up and down it follows, follows, 

I can never quite escape ; 
On the hills and in the hollows, 

This familiar, silent shape 
Still is with me, tireless ever; 

Friend or foe — whoe'er I meet, 
This companion leaves me never 

Keeping step with soundless feet. 

Looking at it, I am lonely, 

For a stranger still it seems; 
Though it follows me — me only, 

Yet, as something seen in dreams, 
I behold it. Oft I wonder 

Whither all its steps do tend; 
All its features hidden under 

Veils no changeful winds can rend. 

Can no pain nor passion move thee, 
O my comrade? I am tossed 

By the tempests sent to prove me — 
On thy calm their wrath is lost. 

47 



48 My Shadow 

Come thou near, my patient lover, 
Let me whisper that I see — 

What no other may discover — 
Change at last has come to me ! 

Once thy feet were swift beside me, 

Not a hill too high to climb; 
From the heat thou didst not hide thee, 

Naught to thee were space and time; 
Light as air, I saw thee dancing 

Down the pathway where I strayed. 
Dost thou see the night advancing? 

Art thou of the dark afraid? 

Canst thou hear me, lover, stranger? 

Silent shape, I tell thee now, 
I, through safety and through danger, 

Am become as changed as thou. 
Yet my heart leaps on before me, 

New stars burn within the sky; 
Courage, courage ! I implore thee — 

O my comrade, faster fly ! 



"WHATEVER TEARS MINE EYES MAY 

WEEP" 

Whatever tears mine eyes may weep, 
One precious thing I still may keep, 

Till earth and time shall end; 

I think it will be mine in Heaven, 

This perfect gift that God has given — 
It is your love, my friend. 



49 



A STATUE 

You who love to look on statues, 

And the rarest would not miss, 
Speak in whispers and step softly 

When you come to look at this. 
Was there ever whiter marble ? 

Not a hint of color there, 
Save — or is it light from Heaven ? — 

Golden glints upon the hair. 

They who look upon this statue 

Must come quickly. Ere the dawn 
Of another day shall brighten 

Heavy curtains will be drawn 
O'er the niche that must receive it: 

There, in silence consecrate, 
Where no mortal eye can see it, 

It will resurrection wait. 

Do you say, as you stand weeping, 

By its awful power oppressed, 
That its place is in the sunlight? 

Nay: the statue's name is Rest. 
Nothing may disturb its quiet; 

Shade on shade will wrap it round: 
Peace will guard the heavy portal 

Of its temple underground. 
50 



A Statue 51 

" Cruel, cruel !" you make answer; 

"All it lacks is blood and breath !" 
Hush ! two sculptors wrought this statue, 

And their names are Life and Death. 
Comes a day when earth and Heaven 

Shall be shaken ; then ah ! then, 
This white statue shall be lifted, 

This dead creature live again ! 



OTHERS 

Others are doing the wonderful things, 

Theirs are the fingers that touch the strings 

That sound so long ere the music dies; 
Darlings and pets of their time, they hear 

Praises of multitudes, far and near, 
And ever their fame before them flies. 

Alas! for the Others! how lonely they stand. 

Far and apart on the hilltops grand, 
We see them plainly against the sky. 

God's pity upon them ! — there's no retreat 
From the world's bold stare and the sun's fierce 
heat 

For the gifted ones who have passed us by. 



52 



WE LOVE BUT FEW 

O yes, we mean all kind words that we say, 

To old friends and to new; 
Yet doth this truth grow clearer day by day, 

We love but few. 

We love ! we love ! what easy words to say, 

And sweet to hear, 
When sunrise splendor brightens all the way, 

And far and near 

Is breath of flowers, and caroling of birds, 

And bells that chime, — 
Our hearts are light, we do not weigh our words 

At morning time. 

But when the matin-music all is hushed, 

And life's great load 
Doth weigh us down, and thick with dust 

Doth grow the road, 

Then do we say less often that we love, 

The words have grown, 
With pleading eyes we look to Christ above, 

And clasp our own. 

53 



54 We Love But Few 

Their lives are bound to ours with mighty bands ; 

No mortal strait, 
Nor Death himself, with his prevailing hands, 

Can separate. 

The world is wide, and many names are dear, 

And friendships true, 
Yet do these words read plainer year by year : 

We love but few. 



IDLENESS 

All around you, everywhere, 
Men and women do and dare, 
Swift, alert, aware, alive, 
In the swarming human hive. 

Up and down, and to and fro, 
On an endless round they go ; 
Patiently they bear their lot, 
Life and death they question not. 

If the wind blow east, or west, 
They can neither play nor rest ; 
So much work beneath the sun, 
Can they die with it undone? 

You, an idler, hear no toll 
Of lost chances in your soul, 
Having neither name nor place, 
With the runners in the race. 

Are you made of finer clay ? 
Have you redder blood than they ? 
Must they always lay the meat 
Which they strive for, at your feet ? 

55 



56 Idleness 

Must they always, first and last, 
Stand between you and the blast ? 
Are you God's peculiar care? 
Has He favorites anywhere? 



ROOM 

We ask for room where a hope can grow, 

A dear old hope that has tried to live; 
A place where its starving roots may go, 

And secret springs their moisture give. 
Room ! room for a hope that can not pass, 

That drinks the lightest dews that spill 
From broken boughs and withered grass, 

And clings to life with desperate will. 



57 



THE LAST MEETING 

If I had known, if I had known, 
That day we met upon the street, 

That nevermore, in any zone 

Of earth's wide spaces we should meet; 

What different greeting had been mine ! 

What different farewell had been thine! 

If we had known or dimly guessed, 
That close to you were waving wings ; 

If some low voice within your breast, 
Had whispered of eternal things, 

What solemn message, high and deep, 

You would have given me to keep ! 

I now recall — how strange it seems ! — 
You spoke of "writing," ah! my friend, 

From that far land beyond my dreams 
What wondrous letter would you send ! 

Here in my silent room I sit, 

And hush my breath to think of it. 

If I had known ! if I had known ! 
Still to myself the words I say, 

58 



The Last Meeting 59 

As o'er your grave the snows are blown, 

For surely it was yesterday, 
When, for a moment's little space, 
You stood there, smiling in my face. 

I did not know, I could not know : 
The angels keep their secrets well, 

But as from earth to Heaven they go, 
I think some kindly one will tell, 

That in remembrance of that hour, 

I lift to you this little flower. 



THE TREASURES OF KURIUM 

Come, look at the treasures of Kurium spread 
In the light of the sun. From the dust of the 

dead 
They are lifted at last, and they blaze as of old, 
These vials and vases and trinkets of gold. 

They are parts of the stories of temple and tomb, 
And they bided their time in the silence and 

gloom; 
While flesh that was mortal would molder away, 
They flashed in defiance of time and decay. 

These rubies are priceless, and red as the blood 
Of women who wore them when life was at flood; 
O maidens of Cyprus, and daughters of Kings; 
What secrets are these that are traced in the 
rings ? 

What soft, slender throat did this necklace 

adorn? 
Was it love's trembling gift in the world's early 

morn? 
Speak low in this place, for they do not forget ; 
Some love that could die not may cling to it yet. 

60 



The Treasures of Kurium 61 

Thou "King Etevander, " with story untold; 
Didst offer Astarte these armlets of gold? 
O'er-wearied with splendor, a boon didst thou 

crave? 
Was it peace on the earth ? Was it rest in the 

grave? 

What strange fire was lit in these vases of glass ? 

It burns unconsuming as centuries pass; 

What rainbows were melted and poured in the 

mold? 
What flash of Auroras ? What sunsets of gold ? 

These tear-bottles here which are dry as the dust, 
Were once overflowing, their owners, we trust 
Behold them with wonder, and smile as they say, 
Were they ours? Did we weep when so brief 
was our stay ? 

Rich wreckage is this, which has come on the 

crest 
Of billows that roll from the east to the west; 
With hints of old sorrow, and splendor, and pride, 
It is linking the souls which the ages divide. 



"THROUGH A GLASS, DARKLY" 

How many times, within the glass, 
I see a figure pause, and pass; 
As like myself as it can be, 
And yet it scarcely looks at me. 

The painted portraits on the wall, 
That do not move or speak at all, 
Look on me with as kind a glance, 
As this impassive countenance. 

But one day, one, before the glass 
I paused, and did not dare to pass; 
For there, by some foreknowledge lit, 
A face looked out. I looked at it. 

The sad eyes pierced me through and through, 
From the set lips a challenge flew; 
As it had passed through searching flame, 
A voice, imperious, called my name. 

Before some clear, inshining light, 
My earthly atoms fled from sight; 
As that which evermore would be, 
My soul itself confronted me. 

62 



44 



Through a Glass, Darkly " 63 



I looked at it, ashamed, dismayed; 
It wore a crown, I was afraid; 
As one who might, it made demands 
Of blood and brain, of heart and hands. 

It questioned me, it whispered clear, 
Great secrets that I ought to hear; 
It bade me keep, in solemn trust, 
Its royal purple from the dust. 

The tryst was ended. I could see 
A veil drop down 'twixt it and me; 
I had no questions more to ask 
Of Life or Death. I knew my task. 



THE PRAYERS 

If we listen, we can hear 

Through all sounds that earth is making, 
Through its music, sweet and clear, 

Through its moan when hearts are breaking, 
A low murmur, as of streams, 
Flowing through a land of dreams. 

'Tis the ceaseless sound of prayer, 

Men and women, sobbing, pleading, 
With more pain than they can bear, 
For God's pity interceding. 
All together, each alone, 
Beat the prayers against the throne. 



64 



HAUNTED 

It comes once more ! I turn and flee, 

And wave it backward, all in vain; 
It knows my pathways, — woe is me! 

On, on, across the fields I strain, 
And through the forests, where the trees 

Lock all their branches; but I hear 
A whisper on the wandering breeze, 

And know the haunting shape is near. 

Within the city's crowded street, 

I strive to hide me from my foe; 
Where many hearts so gaily beat, 

I surely may with courage go. 
I should be glad, the sun is high; 

I would not harm the slightest thing, 
And God himself is in the sky, 

And all His angels on the wing. 

I do not know, sometimes I think 

A friend may come in strange disguise, 
With some clear draught for me to drink, 

As life's most wonderful surprise; 
That in some near or distant day, 

The thing I fear may take my hand 
And draw me close, and smile, and say, 

"At last, at last, you understand I" 
s 65 



ON CHRISTMAS DAY 

What can I give you on this day, 

My dear, dear friend of many years ? 
Your love, as steadfast as the sun, 
Along my lengthening life has run, 
Nor failed me once, nor made delay, 

Nor laughed to scorn my hopes and fears, 

When I am weakest, still your hand 
Is stretched to touch me in my place. 

Whatever comes, I smile serene, 

To think my soul on yours can lean, 

For you are sure to understand, 

And peace and strength are in your face. 

O lightly, lightly, to and fro, 

The gifts on Christmas day are passed. 
Our hands are weary as they hold 
The tiresome trinkets bought with gold; 
A while they please us with their glow, 

But back to dust they fall at last. 

Alas ! my friend, how poor I am ! 
No gift I bring you on this day. 

66 



On Christmas Day 67 

No filmy web from Indian loom, 
Nor gem, nor flower, nor rare perfume, 
Nor spices fine, nor costly balm, 
Before your feet my hands may lay. 

And yet I love you, love you, dear, 
And love a deathless thing must be. 

Mine shall enfold you, when your face 

Makes happier still some heavenly place, 

And no revolving earthly year 

Brings tears or pain to you and me. 



"I AM OLD," SAID THE EARTH 

"I am old," said the earth, "I am old, 

I am wearied in all my frame; 
I am stiff with the northern cold; 

I am seared by the southern flame; 
I am worn with the ways of men; 

Death reaps them down, like corn, 
They are hid in my breast, and then, 

Straightway, new men are born. 
And their laughter is all in vain, 

For they count the days and years ; 
And they babble of loss and gain, 

And they drench me with their tears. 
Is there never an end of all? 

Can a great world never die, 
And rest, like a mighty ball, 

In the depth of the awful sky; 
Or, some day, feel, through sea and sod, 

New, quickening touch, from the hand of 
God?" 



68 



SLEEP SWEET 

Sleep sweet within this quiet room 

O thou! whoe'er thou art; 
And let no mournful yesterday, 

Disturb thy peaceful heart. 
Nor let tomorrow scare thy rest, 

With dreams of coming ill ; 
Thy Maker is thy changeless Friend, 

His love surrounds thee still. 
Forget thyself and all the world; 

Put out each feverish light; 
The stars are watching overhead ; 

Sleep sweet, — good night ! good night ! 



69 



THE BUTTERFLIES 

Look at the butterflies! purposeless things, 
How idly they float on their gossamer wings, 
Over the poppies and over the grass, 
Swift as the down of a thistle they pass. 

Where are they going, and why are they here 
In the heat of the day and the noon of the year? 
They flutter awhile in the brightness, and then 
They are gone from our sight, and they come not 
again. 

And we — we are wearied with fever and frost ; 
Whatever we do, it must be at a cost; 
We hear as we journey, the dropping of tears; 
We bear on our foreheads the stamp of the years. 

But look at the butterflies ! beautiful things, 
Before us and over us flashing their wings; 
It may be, the Maker who fashioned them thus, 
Has sent the gay creatures on errands to us. 

Perhaps we go slowly when we should be swift 
To follow the scent of the roses, that drift 

70 



The Butterflies 71 

Their pink snow about us, more oft we might 

play 
And yet finish our tasks by the end of the day. 

O blest are the eyes that are clear to behold 
The wonderful glow of the butterflies' gold, 
With leisure to follow their flight as they pass 
Silently, gracefully, over the grass ! 



SUNSET 

The birds were all a-singing, 

The morning skies were red, 
And sweet was our communion, 

And pleasant words we said ; 
How close we kept together, 

With never once a frown, — 
But look, I pray you, brother, 

The sun is going down ! 

Our path, that at the morning, 

Was as a rosy line, 
Through greenest meadows winding, 

Grows shorter all the time; 
And now my eyes are brimming, 

To see the shadows fall, 
For you and I are walking, 

With no kind words at all. 

O Sun, stand still in Heaven ! 

Be not so swift to go 
Adown your path of glory; 

This friend that loved me so 

72 



Sunset 73 

Must smile once more upon me, 

And I once more on him, 
Before the darkness gathers, 

And all the day is dim. 

No matter whose the blame was; 

So fast the shadows fall, 
There's no time left for talking, 

I'll gladly take it all; 
For all the pride and anger, 

Die out within my breast, 
Now while the sun is sinking, 

So low adown the west. 



FOR WEAL OR WOE 

They clasped their hands for weal or woe, 
And went together down the road, 

The road that led, they knew not whither, 

They did not know what winds would blow, 
Nor where the shining rivers flowed, 

Nor when the sweetest flowers would wither. 

Their hands were clasped for weal or woe, 
For love's dear sake their hearts were brave, 

And years went onward, slowly creeping, 

Joy was their friend. With face aglow, 
She often came to them, and gave 

Some priceless pearl into their keeping. 

Their hands were clasped for weal or woe, 
Together they outwatched the moon 

In many a solemn tryst with sorrow. 

By wayside graves their tears would flow, 
And crossing many a lonesome dune, 

They, each from each, some hope would borrow. 

Their hands were clasped for weal or woe, 
And faith was strong, and could not fail, 

74 



For Weal or Woe 75 

Though doubts, like evil birds, were flying, 
"Our love shall last, " they whispered low; 

And bent their heads to meet the gale, 
Which left its wrecks around them lying. 

Their hands were clasped for weal or woe, 
More tender grew their words and ways, 

Their fingers now were feebly clinging; 

They journeyed slowly and more slow, 
For strange, new stars began to blaze, 

And all the evening bells were ringing. 



TWO DREAMS 

What awful sounds were in the air, 

With tears and torment everywhere ! 

My feet were on the sinking sands, 

They drew me down; I wrung my hands, 

And creatures whom I could not see, 

With cruel laughter mocked at me; 

I could not breathe, I could not die, 

And all the time, within the sky, 

Were soldiers fighting. Black and red 

Their banners waved above my head. 

But suddenly a low voice spoke : 

" Good-morning, dear." I heard and woke. 

And with a glad exultant scream 

I cried — "It was a dream! a dream !" 

But yesterday I saw a face 
Grow white and still within its place, 
And over eyes that long had wept, 
A blessed darkness slowly crept. 

friend beloved, all pain was passed, 
And you were sound asleep at last. 

1 smiled to think you were so safe 

From words and deeds that grieve and chafe; 

76 



Two Dreams 77 

That Sorrow's self, in garments gray, 
Like wavering mist, had fled away; 
I thought you heard, as music clear, 
New voices say "Good morning, dear. " 
And waking where the glory streamed, 
You joyful cried — "I dreamed! I dreamed!" 



BEYOND 

Beyond my close environment, 

To-day's insistent call, 
I forward fare, past cave and tent 

And hut and castle- wall. 

Shall I — an alien, far from home, 

Unnaturalized — forget 
The quest I make, and aimless roam, 

With bounds too near me set ? 

With skies above me bending down 

To meet the mists that soar, 
There's music somewhere that must drown 

The world's perpetual roar. 

To find my Own, across the gray 

Old sea of Time I swim, 
And clear my eyes from mist and spray 

To watch the orient rim. 

For often now I see afloat 

Some fair, unearthly thing, 
And from above a long-drawn note 

Has set me wondering ! 

78 



AFTER THE STORM 

Last night a storm was on the sea; 

The wreckage drifts ashore; 
Come walk along the beach with me, 

And hear the breakers roar. 

What soul their sorrow understands ? 

What eye can trace their path ? 
They fling themselves upon the sands, 

And foam with fear or wrath. 

The shore receives them, patient, dumb, 
Nor trembles at their shocks; 

But lifts to meet them, as they come, 
Its great, insensate rocks. 

I look across the troubled sea, 

And seem an atom, tost 
To wandering winds, and what to me 

Is joy, if kept or lost? 

And what if wearied on the way, 

I faint and fall and die; 
Would any miss, till judgment-day, 

So small a thing as I ? 
79 



THE YELLOW ROSE 

Within a book, unopened long, 

I find a faded yellow rose, 

It lies across a poet's song, 

That tells of love and cruel wrong, 

And on the margin of the page, 

Are two initials, dim with age. 

The song I read, the book I close, 

And fling away the yellow rose. 

No matter ! Always, East and West, 

Will yellow roses still be pressed. 



80 



LONELINESS 

Up ! Up and onward ! Cast thy loads 

Behind thee, as thou speedest on; 
To shining summits, stretch the roads 

Which many rain storms beat upon. 
If boulders from the awful height 

Come crashing down, look not at them; 
A hand unseen will guide their flight, — 

They may not touch thy garment's hem. 

Since thou didst leave the vales below, 

Where smooth, green paths for thee were 
made; 
Since thou didst say thy feet should go 

Up the great mountains, unafraid, 
Make now thy words of boasting good, 

Unto the void thy terrors toss ; 
Vex not thy chosen solitude 

With words of loneliness and loss. 



81 



A LITTLE LOVE 

Give them just a little love, 

These poor creatures with no traces 

Of the lovely in their faces. 

Though they take your gift with scorning, 

Though they grieve you night and morning ; 

In the name of God above, 

Give them just a little love. 

Give them just a little love, 

Touch their hands in friendly fashion, 

Speak to them in kind compassion, 

Tell them of the Heavenly City, 

With its everlasting pity, 

In the name of God above; 

Give them just a little love. 

Give them just a little love, 

These poor creatures. On their faces 

Sin and shame have left their traces. 

Do not judge them. Kindly leave them 

To the Christ who may receive them. 

In the name of God above, 

Give them just a little love. 



82 



THIS ONLY 

Dear little, weary, wasted hand, 
That from the valley lonely 

Waved long farewell, and left to us, 
This golden circlet only ! 



83 



UNSATISFIED 

Be still for a moment, thou weariful world! 

Thy wheels they go faster and faster; 
I have bowed to thy will, I have followed thy 
beck, 
I have worn, uncomplaining, thy yoke on my 
neck, 
But I will not acknowledge thee master. 

Thy beautiful trinkets I hold in my hands; 

I cannot but smile at thy story; 
The lily-bells ring and the birds fly in flocks, 

The vines and the mosses creep over the rocks, 
The clouds are as banners of glory. 

Like blossoms the butterflies flit here and there, 
And birds in the branches are singing; 

The children are mocking at sorrow and care, 
There's music and laughter afloat in the air, 

And flowers in the meadows are springing. 

A wonderful pageant ! I see it go by; 

And beauty and ashes are blended; 
Keeping step with the others, I march to and fro, 

But I feel all the time like a child at a show, 
That he knows, in an hour, will be ended. 

84 



DEAR HOPE OF MINE 

Dear Hope of mine, struck down in strength, 

As you were upward flying; 
Lie still! lie still! for you, at length, 

Healed, helped, all foes defying, 
Shall cleave again the star-lit track, 
No wind that blows may beat you back; 

You are not dead, or dying! 



85 



A NEW GUEST 

What, Sorrow! have you come at last? 

And are you now my guest to be ? 
So many times my door you passed, 

As one who had forgotten me. 

Well, well, come in! Beside my hearth 
Sit down, as many a friend has done, 

When all my house was filled with mirth, 
And hearts were glad from sun to sun. 

For you I spread no banquet fine, 
Nor call my neighbors in to see 

Your pale, sad face, strange guest of mine 
Yet I a courteous host will be. 

I will not strive with you at all, 
I will not frown and bid you go; 

If Joy has gone beyond recall, 
You are her sister dear, I know. 

You did not chance to walk my way; 

With orders signed and sealed you came 
You followed where my pathway lay 

And knew my number and my name. 
86 



"LEST YE BE JUDGED" 

They thought, with tottering human feet, 
Themselves could climb to the judgment-seat; 

And their steps were upward bent. 
But a strange light flashed from a flying cloud, 
And a voice dropped down, and the heavens 
were bowed, 

And they knew what judgment meant ! 



*7 



JOY 

List! her feet are at your door; 

Her sandals shine with evening dew; 
How late she is ! but now, once more, 

She turns her radiant eyes on you. 
For long delay she makes amend; 

Rare scarlet blooms around you fall, 
And glad new songs to Heaven ascend, 

For earth is glorious, after all ! 



88 



A LIE 

She told a lie, a little lie. 

It was so small and white, 
She said, "It cannot help but die 

Before another night." 
And then she laughed to see it go, 
And thought it was as white as snow. 

But oh, the lie! it larger grew, 

Nor paused by night or day, 
And many watched it as it flew, 

And, if it made delay, 
Like something that was near to death, 
They blew it onward with their breath. 

And on its track the mildew fell, 

And tears of grief and shame, 
And many a spotless lily-bell 

Was shriveled as with flame. 
The wings that were so small and white, 
Were large, and strong, and black as night. 

One day a woman stood aghast, 
And trembled in her place, 

89 



90 A Lie 

For something, flying far and fast, 

Had smote her in the face; 
Something that cried in thunder tone, 
" I come! I come! Take back your own!' ' 



A PRAYER FOR HELP 

Canst thou not hear us, thou Almighty God? 
Are all our prayers like bubbles upward blown? 
The earth is shaking. Man, and sea, and sod, 
And all thy winds together, making moan. 

O Sacrifice ! O Tragedy sublime ! 
The fathers old are marching with their sons ; 
They fling themselves by thousands at a time 
Against the maws of the devouring guns ! 

And where art thou? The peoples rage like 

beasts; 
With faith forsworn and passion at its flood, 
They Thee forget, and at their bitter feasts 
They lift to Thee strange flagons warm with 

blood. 

And overhead, within the fenceless sky, 
Which was our own, and made for our delight, 
Are shapes like birds that slaughter as they fly, 
And sing of hate, with all the stars in sight. 

Behold the Kings! O, God, behold the Kings! 
Their eyes are sad. The crowns are heavy weight, 



9i 



92 A Prayer for Help 

The throne rooms fill with mournful echoings, 
And armies camp too near the palace gate. 

We whisper low — Are these the days, the days, 
The long, last days of all the years of Time ? 
Hide us, O God ! Our cities are ablaze, 
Our rivers sicken with their crimson slime ! 

If Thou hast missed our voices from the choirs, 
How can we praise Thee while the bullets sing, 
And smoke-wreaths curl above our dear desires, 
And faith flies slowly on a wounded wing? 

Maker of worlds, and hope of every race, 
Through warring camps by suffering souls 

implored, 
Send Thou to us from his exalted place, 
Thy Angel Michael, with his flaming sword! 



A SOUL 

Since this is a human soul, beware 
And touch it not with a careless hand; 

Its life is long, give light and air, 
And let it live as its laws demand. 

I pray you look; it is rare and fine, 
An alien flower with an inward glow 

It shrinks away from your dark red wine, 
And slakes its thirst with the dew and snow. 

It is sad and glad; it is young and old; 

It loves the cyclone and the sun; 
It is like a harp with power untold 

That all the winds may play upon. 



93 



AT LAST 

At last, at last, the precious friend 

She would have died to save, 
Grew strangely kind, we saw him bend 

Above her peaceful grave 
With ferns and flowers. She did not wake 
His tardy gifts to see or take. 



94 



A VOICE 

Your voice, your voice ; the voice I loved so well ! 
Best friend of mine, have you come back once 

more 
Through utter void, from Heaven's own height to 

tell 
What oft you told me with your tongue and pen? 

On senseless disk that whirls before my eyes, 
Are lines too swift, too infinitely small 
For me to trace, yet deep within them lies 
Your echoing tones that cannot die at all. 

My glorious One, from what remotest bound, 
Beyond this room, and Time's lamenting toll, 
Have you returned? What country have you 

found 
That grants brief passport to your faithful soul ? 



95 



A TREE 

I stood beside an ancient tree, 

And stroked its bark with tender hand; 
Good friends were we; it counseled me, 

Its waving leaves my forehead fanned. 
I long had watched the years that rolled, 

But there, beneath an ageless sky, 
And under branches centuries old 

I cried, Dear God, how young am I! 



96 



TO THE UNBORN PEOPLES 

Ye Peoples of the future years, 

We you salute. To you we fling 
From these revolving hemispheres 

A greeting glad. While yet we cling 
To earth's old rim, we think of you; 

A watch we keep by day and night, 
As plain, in Heaven's unfathomed Blue, 

Your great battalions sweep in sight. 

Hail ! Hail ! to you, ye glorious hosts, 

Ye formless shapes that haunt us now; 
Ye gathering tribes, unresting ghosts, 

Behold us here, as low we bow 
In salutation to our Kind; 

Our kindred dear, whose blood will be 
As red as ours, whose hands will find 

To rooms we found not, door and key. 

Ye waiting Ones that bide your time, 
Ye too shall know of joy and pain; 

The storms will smite the hills you climb ; 
The suns will scorch you on the plain; 
7 97 



98 To the Unborn Peoples 

The seas will lure you; you will go 
In paths our ships may never find; 

On isles unknown and peaks of snow 

Your tribes wall camp, your horns will wind. 

Ye unborn Peoples, we have tried 

To march in ranks where none retreat ; 
In rifts of rocks our records hide, 

And you may find them, when your feet 
Shall stand in places where our hands 

Were torn and soiled by thorn and grime. 
To you we leave the Seas and Lands, 

And all the glorious spoils of Time. 

Advancing Races, Sons of men, 

How can ye bear life's awful stress? 
What will ye do with sword and pen, 

And good and bad, and more and less? 
When all our Prophets go their ways, 

And all our Anthems are forgot, 
What Altars will your builders raise 

To Him who lives and changes not? 

Ye Legions vast, from depth and height, 

We beg from Science chart and proofs, 
That you may stand in clearest light, 

And sign to Saturn from your roofs. 
The Earth is prescient now with sense 

Of growing power, judicial doom, 
Good will to men, Omnipotence 

That whispers low, ' 4 Make room ! Make room ! 



To the Unborn Peoples 99 

Ye Peoples of the future years, 

Keep faith with us, the elder Ones, 
Wipe out the causes of our fears, 

Climb nearer to the central Suns. 
We go our way, our names will die, 

Ye shall not find them near or far, 
Our highest spans in dust will lie 

As low as Karnac's pillars are. 

Hail! Hail! ye Peoples yet unborn, 

We leave you all that Love bequeaths ; 
Our gems and mines and field of corn, 

Traditions, arts, and Valor's wreaths. 
New voices call. We disappear. 

Above our dust your songs will swell; 
Your banners float, — Our Kinsmen dear, 

Hail! Hail! and then, — Farewell, Farewell. 



THE PEACEMAKERS 

I thought I saw, upon the shining coast, 

A mighty host. 
Their eyes were luminous with joy and peace, 

That would not cease. 
Somehow they seemed more royal and more blest 

Than all the rest. 
Yet ever did they wonder that their names 

Met loud acclaims; 
And that such honor unto them was given, 

In highest Heaven. 
They had not borne the banners, in the strife 

Of mortal life. 
Their foreheads had not felt the touch of wreaths, 

Which fame bequeaths 
To conquering heroes, as they homeward march, 

Through Victory's arch. 
These were the souls that when the strife was 
high, 

Made soft reply. 
The men and women, who could patient stand, 

And make demand 
For peace, peace only, though their pride was 
crost, 

Their dear hopes lost, 
ioo 



The Peacemakers 101 

Oft had they caught, with soft and naked hands, 

The flaming brands 
Which anger hurled, and quenched before it fell 

Some fire of Hell. 
They did not dream how great their souls had 
grown; 

No sculptured stone 
Was piled above their ashes when they slept; 

But God had kept 
Their faces in His sight; He knew the cost, 

When passion-tost 
And sorely hurt, they patient came and went, 

On peace intent. 
Now they are "blessed" evermore, and lo! 

Where'er they go, 
The angels look on them, and smile and say, 

"God's children, they!" 



O HELEN, HELEN DEAR! 

How lightly up the winding stair 

We ran together, she and I ; 

And still I see her lovely face 

Look downward from the landing-place; 

For she outsped me. Through the gloom 

Of the great hall, into her room, 

She led me on that summer day, 

In years that fled too quickly by. 

/ pray you, if you ever pass 
This sunken grave, within the grass, 
Touch tenderly the crumbling stone, 
And say, for me, in undertone — 
"O Helen, Helen dear!" 

How fair she was, how straight and tall, 
My Helen in that far-off day ! 
Like living things that longed to go, 
The curtains fluttered to and fro, 
As up and down the room we walked, 
Perhaps of love and lovers talked, 
As girls have always done, and will, 
And nothing whispered "yea" or "nay." 

102 



O Helen, Helen Dear! 103 

/ pray you, if you ever pass 
This sunken grave, within the grass, 
Touch tenderly the crumbling stone, 
And say, for me, in undertone — 
"0 Helen, Helen dear!" 

What trifling things the heart will keep ! 
They seem too simple to be told. 
That day she lifted from its place 
A dainty thing of flowers and lace, 
And held it up that I might see. 
O little bonnet, plain to me, 
Your ribbon streams across the mist, 
A shadowy streak of palest gold ! 

/ pray you, if you ever pass 
This sunken grave, within the grass, 
Touch tenderly the crumbling stone, 
And say, for me, in undertone — 
"0 Helen, Helen dear!" 



A SONG OF VICTORY 

Ring! Ring by millions all ye Bells! 

Ring as ye never rang before ! 
Around the world the music swells, 

All nations hear the glad uproar. 
From peak to peak the word is flung, 

It leaps like flame across the seas, 
And never yet its name was sung, 

In days as wonderful as these. 

Ring! Ring ye Bells in cities old! 

Ring all ye Bells in every town! 
Ring loud in markets manifold. 

And over prison walls that frown 
Send ye the story of to-day, 

The day that saw the silent guns 
And saw the war-clouds pass away, 

That all too long had hid the Suns. 

Ring! all ye Bells! Ring louder yet; 

Tell all the tribes that Peace has come, 
With happy tears our eyes are wet, 

Tell this! ye Bells of Christendom. 
104 



A Song of Victory 105 

And far away, o'er summer seas, 

Swing swift ye Bells of gay Japan, 

We all are one, in days like these, 

We sing the brotherhood of Man. 

Lift high your head, Jerusalem ! 

The hated war-clouds drift away, 
Jehovah's breath has blown on them, 

Praise Him in Synagogues today. 
All peoples 'neath the Crescent born, 

Forget your wounds, be glad again, 
With flags and flowers your homes adorn, 

Respect the general joy of Men. 

Old China raise your reverend head, 

Let all your templed music swell, 
At last the grandest word is said, 

In flames around the rim of Hell 
Green islands anchored and at ease, 

Beneath your palm trees tell the tale, 
Strange peoples in the zones that freeze, 

Fling tidings to the roaring gale. 

Ring! Ring ye Bells, ring near and far! 

The skies are bright with rainbow bands, 
And Earth forgets her sword and scar, 

And foe with foe is clasping hands. 
Ye Bells of Time, ring clear and slow! 

White shadows dance across the sod, 
And listening angels flying low, 

With Alleluias rise to God. 



OUT OF THE DEPTHS 

" God ! God ! God ! " Across the dark, 
And through the void, rings out the cry, 

And souls before Him, standing stark, 
Are listening for a clear reply; 

Some signal flashed from distant spheres, 

To tell them that He sees and hears. 

1 ' God ! God ! O God ! ' ' Forevermore 
His name rolls upward; where is He? 

Along what unimagined shore, 
Across what undiscovered sea, 

Must we fare forth ? What wondrous road 

Will lead us to the King's abode? 

1 ' God ! God ! O God ! ' ' We grow more bold ; 

More love we crave as years increase; 
More shelters from the heat and cold; 

More of Thy pity and Thy peace. 
Hold fast Thine own ! from Thee we came, 
As deathless sparks from central flame. 



106 



ETERNITY 

O the clanging bells of Time ! 

Night and day they never cease ; 
We are wearied with their chime, 

For they do not bring us peace. 
And we hush our breath to hear, 

And we strain our eyes to see, 
If thy shores are drawing near; 

Eternity ! Eternity ! 

O the clanging bells of Time ! 

How their changes rise and fall; 
But in undertone sublime; 

Sounding clearly through them all 
Is a voice that must be heard, 

As our moments onward flee, 
And it speaketh aye one word : 

Eternity! Eternity! 

O the clanging bells of Time ! 

To their voices, loud and low, 
In a long, unresting line, 

We are marching to and fro; 
107 



108 Eternity 

And we yearn for sight or sound, 

Of the life that is to be, 
For thy breath doth wrap us round; 

Eternity ! Eternity ! 

O the clanging bells of Time ! 

Soon their notes will all be dumb, 
And in joy and peace sublime 

We shall feel the silence come. 
And our souls their thirst will slake, 

And our eyes the King will see, 
When thy glorious morn shall break, 

Eternity ! Eternity ! 



TWO HOUSES 

I have built it strong and high, 

I have made it fair and fine; 
All the people passing by 

Stop to praise this house of mine. 
I have brought from far and near 

Rarest things to fill it full; 
I shall dwell for many a year 

In my house so beautiful. 

Then the Soul said: "But my house 
Is so low and poor and small, 

Through its windows dark with dust 
I can scarcely see at all. 

I must build a palace grand, 

That eternally will stand.' ' 

Ah ! my house ! its splendor wanes 

All its lights are burning low; 
Time has touched it with its stains, 

One by one its treasures go. 
See ! it trembles to its fall, 

Here is neither peace nor rest ; 
In my mansion fair and tall 

I am but a transient guest. 
109 



no Two Houses 

Then the Soul said: "But my house 
Stands unshaken, white as snow; 

All its pillars rest in rock, 
All its windows are aglow. 

Earth may vanish, time may cease, 

I shall dwell in perfect peace." 



PERSONALITY 

Thou, helpless babe, whose days went by, 
As dim as dreams, as soon forgot, 

Wert thou myself ? nay, nay, for I 

Could see thy face, and know thee not. 

Dear child with hair like shining flax, 
Who sat'st beside my Mother's knee, 

Time's shifting sand has hid thy tracks; 
What had my life to do with thee? 

And yon tall girl that looks afar, 

And questions earth and air and sea, 

And follows fast her guiding star, — 
Dear God, how far she is from me ! 

In noon's strong light a woman stands, 
With life's full pressure on her laid; 

Its curious webs are in her hands, 
And flushed with joy, yet half afraid, 

She turns her wondering eyes on me; 

And claims me yet ; I felt her needs ; — 
Up roll the mists from land and sea ; 

I onward press, her form recedes! 
in 



H2 Personality 

Am I responsible for these ? 

Far off, in some great judgment-hall, 
Beyond these earthly, storm-swept seas, 

Must I make answer for them all ? 



COME, SWEETHEART, COME 

Come, sweetheart, come ! across the road 

Are the great rocks that all must pass; 
You may not lay aside your load, 

And though you cry, "Alas, alas!" 
No hand may help you in this hour; 

We stand aside, you make your moan, 
But this is your allotted dower, 

This pain must be your very own. 

The rocks are there, so cold and gray; 

Your feet are tender, they will bleed; 
O sweetheart, must you go this way? 

Our hearts cry out, "What need? What 
need?" 
But come! make haste! your name is called; 

It seems in love and not in wrath ; 
Smile now on us, and unappalled, 

Go slowly up the narrowing path ! 

Now, sweetheart, turn your peaceful eyes, 
The cold, gray rocks you crossed alone, 

Are gleaming fair beneath the skies, 
By vines and mosses overgrown. 

8 113 



ii4 Come, Sweetheart, Come 

Repeat the tale so often told; 

Just in the darkest, loneliest place, 
Your path became as burnished gold, 

And angels met you face to face. 



"TRACE THOU THE PATH" 

Trace thou the path which the eagle took, 

The first-formed, glorious one; 
Which, from its birthplace on the rock, 

Went soaring toward the sun. 

And seek and see if ye cannot find 

On the ancient eastern shore, 
One priceless gem from the glitt'ring crown, 

Which the Queen of Sheba wore, 

And a chord from the harp that David smote; 

And a shred of Tyrian stain; 
And a leaf from the palms whose boughs were 
wet, 

By the first bright drops of rain. 

The earth and the air closed over them; 

They are fled with the human hosts; 
They returned again to the formless void; 

They are less than the dreams of ghosts. 



115 



IN DARKENED HOUSE 

In darkened house of common clay, 

The brain, imperial, dwells alone; 
None say to it or yea or nay, 

Or ask its right to crown and throne. 
The dull, gray substance sleeps and wakes, 

And wonders why and whence it came; 
With sense of self it throbs and aches; 

A heaving force, a prisoned flame. 
By law unwrit or sacred sign 

It holds its power — a right divine. 

Behold the king! — how lone his state! 

But countless couriers round him stand; 
They do his bidding while they wait; 

Or outward haste at his command. 
Viewless and soundless, up the height, 

While radiant suns beneath them glow; 
With wings made swift by sheer delight, 

Where mightiest angels only go; 
They speed their flight — what worlds unfold ! 

They find what kings, in dreams, behold! 

What power is here? What master grand? 
In darkness bound, of lowly birth; 

116 



In Darkened House 117 

Yet made to think, and feel, and stand, 

As God's own Viceroy on the Earth. 
The beasts before him cringe and creep ; 

The ancient mountains bow them low; 
As still as death, through oceans deep, 

The swift, obedient lightnings go. 
Thou brain of man awake, asleep, 

Still art thou King ! Thy Kingdom keep. 



A NEW PRAYER 

Men and women, long defeated, 

Pray a new prayer on your knees ; 
Ask no more for love or riches, 

Ask no more for fame or ease. 
Lift your empty hands to Heaven, 

Pray for wisdom, that alone, 
Though He watches worlds in motion, 

He will hear your faintest tone. 
Angels will descend to help you, 

Stone by stone shall yet be set, 
Slow, persistent, without clamor, 
Without sound of workman's hammer, 

You shall build your temple yet ! 



118 



AFTER DEATH 

At first when my face shall be changed, and I go 
To dwell in a silence that cannot be broken, 

A few whom I love will lament me, I know, 
And eyes will be dim when my name shall be 
spoken. 

If any have blamed me, their censure will cease, 
For when the full light of eternity flashes, 

There's nothing to do but to whisper of peace, 
And no one can war with a handful of ashes. 

But O to be gone from the home that was mine ; 

With no more a share in its joys or its sorrow; 
My part in its plans to forever resign, 

No thought of to-day and no care for to- 
morrow. 

All this is beyond me. How strange it will be 

To go on a journey that has no returning, 
With year after year speeding on without me 
To gladden or grieve when the sunsets are 
burning ! 

119 



120 After Death 

The children will lean their light weight on the 
stone, 
To spell out my name and to question and 
wonder 
What 'tis to lie there in the darkness alone, 
Through moonlight, and starlight, and rolling 
of thunder. 

But then, in a moment, some butterfly gay, 
Will hover above them and chide their delay- 
ing; 
With beautiful wings it will lure them away, 
And they will forget what the stone has been 
saying. 

But I shall lie patiently there in my place, 
The slumber a part of my life and my story ; 

Till some time the morning will flash in my face, 
And I shall awake to its gladness and glory. 



A DRIVE AT NICE 

The sea below the olive trees, 

Was glittering in the sun 

And almond blossoms to the breeze 

Were wafted, one by one. 

No cloud in all the blue above 

Its shade above us cast ; 

The palm trees, as with human love, 

Waved blessings as we passed. 

Above the stately villa walls, 

We saw the roses climb ; 

And sounds of distant waterfalls 

Made music all the time. 

And often, as we laughed and talked, 

And loved a world so wide, 

Our pleasant driver slowly walked, 

And stroked his horse's side. 

Well pleased to hear us praise the scene, 
He bade us turn our glance 
On ancient Alps, that stood serene, 
To guard the land of France. 
Sometimes we passed a soldier gay ; 
Again, a beggar whined, 

121 



122 A Drive at Nice 

And oft, in niches by the way, 
Christ's Mother sat enshrined ! 

Beside our wheels the children ran, 
They ran for miles and miles; 
Small strangers in our transient plan, 
They gave us welcoming smiles, 
With Parma violets lifted high 
To halt our swift advance — 
What could we do but buy and buy 
The fragrant flowers of France? 

We passed the gay mimosa trees, 

Could earth itself be old, 

When yellow blooms as sweet as these, 

Cried out — behold ! behold ! 

We pilgrims, wandering from the west, 

Who searched for joy and peace; 

Was this the ending of our quest, 

This road that led from Nice? 

We passed the forts of primal rock, 
High lifted, stern, and gray, 
Unheard by them Time's awful clock 
Ticked centuries away. 
Familiar with the shouting seas, 
Their silence mocked their roar; 
In league with God's own mysteries, 
They served Him evermore. 



A GLEAM OF CRIMSON 

(Her dress on that day was of a most noble color, a sub- 
dued and goodly crimson, girdled and adorned in such sort 
as best suited with her tender age. — Dante's Vita Nuova.) 

Where old Florence sits majestic, 

With her treasures round her spread, 
Whispering to herself, and asking 

Endless honor for her dead; 
There, within the halls of silence 

Kept for memories and for dreams, 
Lo! a hue of softest crimson 

Through the shadow always gleams. 

Ah ! that f esta by the Arno ! 

Neighbors gathering, young and gay, 
Singing, dancing, speaking praises 

Of their lovely Tuscan May; 
And, among them Beatrice, 

Gentle, serious, in her place; 
Guessing not her future story, 

Nor the sweetness of her face. 

Unremembered are her features ; 
All the eyes with joy aglow 
123 



124 A Gleam of Crimson 

On that fateful eve in Florence, 
Darkened, centuries ago; 

But forever, clothed in crimson, 
Must a little phantom dance, 

And a color, rare and fadeless, 
Glow in Dante's sad romance. 



THE BARS OF FATE 

I stood before the bars of Fate 

And bowed my head disconsolate; 

So high they seemed, so fierce their frown, 

I thought no hand could break them down, 

Beyond them I could hear the songs 
Of valiant men who marched in throngs ; 
And joyful women, fair and free, 
Looked back and waved their hands to me. 

I did not cry "Too late! Too late!" 
Nor strive to rise, or rail at Fate, 
Nor pray to God. My coward heart, 
Contented, played its foolish part. 

So still I sat, the tireless bee 
Sped o'er my head with scorn for me, 
And birds who built their nests in air 
Beheld me, as I were not there. 

From twig to twig, before my face 
The spiders wove their curious lace, 
As they a curtain fine would see 
Between the hindering bars and me. 

125 



126 The Bars of Fate 

Then sudden change ! I heard the call 
Of wind and wave and waterfall; 
From heaven above and earth below 
Came clear command — " Arise and go!" 

I upward sprang in all my strength, 
And stretched my eager hands at length 
To break the bars — no bars were there; 
My fingers fell through empty air ! 



LITTLE PEOPLE 

Forgive me, my brothers and sisters, 

Little people who live in the grass, 
So heedless was I of your presence, 

But now I am crying "Alas!" 
Lamenting my deafness and blindness, 

And wishing I better had known 
My neighbors, the peaceable creatures 

Whose homes were so near to my own. 

I wish I had lingered in passing, 

And lifted the leaves of the field, 
And watched you run hither and thither 

In paths which the grasses concealed. 
I wish that my fingers had touched you 

And made you look up at a friend, 
Though you were so tiny and transient, 

And I — of the world without end ! 

I wish you had told me your story, 
And I could have told you my own ; 

How sweet would have been our communion 
In hours that were weary and lone. 

127 



128 Little People 

I shall go, I shall flee like a shadow, 
I shall answer the voices that call, 

And you with your homes in the grasses, 
Will never have loved me at all. 



LOVE AND HATE 

Said Love to Hate, "I shall destroy you yet; 

Around my throne your servitors shall stand 
To gaze on me, till they your name forget, 

And you, yourself, shall bid my foes disband." 



129 



LOVERS 

The white rose and the red rose, 

Either side the garden gate, 
Though in love with one another, 

Were so sadly separate, 
But when summer-time was ended, 

They no longer were alone, 
For their faded leaves together 

To the sodden turf were blown. 



130 



THE EAGLE'S BROOD 

Some day when the Eagle leaves her nest 

To search the shore for food, 
We'll climb to the mountain's rocky crest 

To gaze at the callow brood. 

But we may not stay, and we must beware 
When the Eagle homeward flies, 

For we are weak, and we could not bear 
The wrath in the Eagle's eyes. 



131 



FAREWELL 
(To T. O. C.) 

Now, at the last, he lies here, cold and breathless; 

No place for care within this peaceful breast. 
Joyful and swift, and at his King's commanding, 

His soul goes forward on its endless quest. 

Patient and kind, he served his generation; 

Lost not his road in earth's bewildering maze. 
We bend our heads in silent salutation 

And brief farewell, and go our separate ways. 

February 2, 191 4. 



132 



THE GREAT WHEEL 

My life is filled with little wheels, 

And if I sleep or wake 
They still revolve; so small they are, 

No sound at all they make. 

At times the dust will clog them so, 
They falter in the grooves. 

I cannot tell the thing to do — 
There's scarce a wheel that moves. 

But always, far behind them all, 

And as to glorious song, 
One mighty wheel serenely turns, 

I've known it all life long. 

It cannot swerve, exact and smooth, 
It spins my thread of fate; 

I may not touch it with my hands, 
I can but work and wait. 



133 



APART 

You were my friend; I watch you go, 
Slow climbing up the height ; 

I wander through the vale below, 
But still I keep in sight 

Your shining raiment ; as a star 

You gleam among the hills afar. 

In days that into mist withdrew, 
You walked and talked with me; 

I all your happy visions knew, 
All that you meant to be 

In that " to-morrow," which unrolled, 

Before your eyes its blue and gold. 

Somehow, somewhere, I know not when, 

I missed you from my side; 
You never will come back again, 

I think if you had died, 
The grave itself, though dark and drear, 
Would not have been so distant, dear. 



i34 



IN THE FOG 

Am I left alone? Has the whole world gone 
But the one small spot that I stand upon? 
Was there nothing real ? Were the hills a dream ? 
Did never the dew of the morning gleam? 

I grope in the fog like a blinded man 
Who has missed his way. I have lost the plan 
Of the world I knew. O where, I pray, 
Are the fields I walked in yesterday? 

Out there at morn, on a bough, low-hung, 

An oriole's nest, in the breezes swung; 

I turn my eyes to the self -same spot, 

But the bough and the bird and the nest are not. 

Were the damask rose and ivy green 
But phantoms cast on a phantom screen? 
Were the tinted shells on the sunlit shore 
What rainbows are when the storms are o'er? 

And the friends I loved — have I lost them all ? 
In the fog's assault did their castles fall? 
I send their names with a lonesome cry 
Through a cold gray wall, but there's no reply. 

i35 



GIFTS 

I used to send you gifts, my dear, 

And your gifts came to me. 
On Christmas Day what light and cheer 

Within our homes would be. 

But now, if I should speak your name, 
No answer would come back, 

Although your memory, like a flame, 
Lights all my earthly track. 

You fled so fast, you fled so far, 

Your path I fail to trace; 
But oft I wonder where you are, 

In old, star-lighted space. 

O take my love, immortal friend, 

My Christmas gift to thee, 
And out of glory, somehow, send 

Your own dear love to me. 

Christmas, 19 12. 



136 



ILLUSIONS 

Dear things, I watch you flying 

Far off across the sea; 
You are not dead or dying, 

You simply died to me. 
But still in life's December, 

My heart leaps up and sings, 
For I with joy remember 

The coloring of your wings. 



i37 



PERSONAL DESIRES 

For Light and Air and Space I ask 

And roads that upward climb ; 
And heart and hand to do my task, 

And Silence half the time. 

Space, Light, and Air, and Sun, and Star, 
And Moons that reach their prime, 

And eyes to see where Angels are 
In these low lands of Time. 

Light, Space, and Air, and children gay, 

Who love To-morrow's face, 
And laugh at Sorrow's garments gray, 

And tire not in the race. 

Space, Light, and Air, and Hope that saves 

And webs to music spun, 
And crosses set by lonesome graves, 

When Earth's sad wars are done. 

Light, Air, and Space, and Spices rare, 

And dim uncharted Isles 
With sounding shells and blossoms fair, 

Where harbors stretch for miles. 
138 



Persona! Desires 139 

Peace, Light, and Air, these three, I ask, 

And not these transient things, 
That vex my soul, and halt my task, 

And break my wearied wings. 

Light, Space, and Air, and hill and glen, 

And end of ooze and grime, 
And music making love to men, 

And Sagas, old as Time. 

Space, Light, and Air, and Solitude, 

To sit as still as stone, 
And whisper low — My God is good, 

Though worlds are overthrown. 

Space, Light, and Air, and fearless eyes, 
That watch the gathering throng, 

While Saints sing loud of Paradise, 
And praise Him all day long. 

Space, Light, and Air, and story-books, 

And legends told in rhyme, 
And flocks and herds and running brooks, 

And Heaven in God's good time. 

Then faltering feet, and long release 

From all that tires me so, 
And widening skies and psalms of Peace, 

As forth from earth I go. 



140 Personal Desires 

My last Desires — dear home and friends, 

And one great love to last, 
To be my own, when dreaming ends, 

And Earth's strange tale is past. 



STRENGTH 

Our strength is greater than we dare to think 
We turn our heads and whisper no ! no ! no ! 
From this dark cup, we may not, will not drink, 
No man was born to taste such wine of woe, 
Then draws the cup more near our tightening 

lips, 
Prest close to them by hard, resistless hand, 
Then wondrous change and hard to understand, 
New vigor steals through our astonished frame, 
Old wounds are healed, more glad and young we 

grow, 
The desert waste is blossoming with the rose, 
Up longer roads with singing lips we go. 



141 



THE SEA 

Thou wandering waste of water, 

Thou thing of many moods, 
Thou hast no dusty highways, 

No crowded neighborhoods. 
Is land illusion only ? 

Our very senses swim. 
There's water, water, water, 

To far horizon rim. 

Transcendent beauty claims thee, 

For all thy noise and wrath, 
We love thy lonesome grandeur, 

We love the foaming path 
That closes up behind us, 

And leaves no single trace, 
No source of sob or laughter, 

No hint of form or face. 

The clouds that gather o'er thee, 
Salute thee as they pass, 

Thou art from everlasting 
Their glorious looking-glass. 
142 



The Sea 143 

The rainbows in their splendor, 

The meteors as they flee, 
And wheeling constellations, 

Behold themselves in thee. 

Old sea, we whisper softly 

The names of friends we lost; 
Can'st keep them sleeping soundly 

In chambers tempest-tost ? 
Be kind to them, we pray thee, 

Above their graves forlorn 
Chant psalms of sounding trumpets 

At resurrection morn ! 



REMEMBERED MIRTH 

You, you, my friend, who were so kind and gay, 
Who, if we wept, could laugh our tears away, 
Do you still smile? Enwrapt by heaven's con- 
tent, 
Does aught remain of earth's old merriment? 
Forgive me, Dear, though many years have sped, 
I laugh to-day, remembering things you said. 



144 



RENUNCIATION 

No word of love I say to her, 
No step do I delay for her, 

But ever as I go, 
I cry, dear Lord, take care of her, 
Her heavy burden bear for her, 

And some day let her know, 
That all my being cried for her, 
Though now I seem to hide from her, 

Her face I always miss. 
Whatever life may bring to her, 
My heart will always cling to her, 

In mercy tell her this ! 



io 145 



MYSELF 

Myself must cross the bridge that sways 

With half its timbers gone, 
Ere I can call to him who stays, 

" Make haste ! Come on ! Come on ! " 



146 



MAN AND THE SUN 

He creeps from out a darkened place 
To gaze at God's great Sun; 

Its glory sweeps across his face, 
And all that he has done, 

Or failed to do, and numbered days, 
And living things, and dead, 

Are naught to him, so clear the blaze 
That fills the arch o'erhead. 

His life becomes a singing chord, 

In light his senses swim; 
He thinks creation's silent Lord 

Is flashing signs to him. 



147 



TO 



I shall not cry Return ! Return ! 

Nor weep my years away, 
But just as long as sunsets burn, 

And dawns make no delay, 
I shall be lonesome, I shall miss 
Your hand, your voice, your smile, your kiss. 

Not often shall I speak your name, 

For what would strangers care, 
That once a sudden tempest came 

And swept my gardens bare, 
And then you passed, and in your place 
Stood Silence with her lifted face. 

Not always shall this parting be, 

For though I travel slow, 
I, too, may claim eternity, 

And find the way you go; 
And so I do my task and wait 
The opening of the outer gate. 



148 



THE VOID 

We dream of circles vast, enlarging evermore, 
And wheels that turn, perpetual as the moon, 

And soundless seas, unhindered by a shore, 
And one white day, forever at high noon. 

But thou, the Void, what thought, flung into 
thee, 
Can tremble downward through the darkness 
old 
To find that point where nothing else can be 
But shapeless space, and silence and the cold? 

Comes the long Last, when with thy doom ful- 
filled, 

The awful aeons, traveling sure and slow, 
Take thee for spoil, and glorious light be spilled, 

And seeds of worlds within thee float and grow. 



149 



WHEN 

When we have lived our little lives, 

And learned of life and death ; 
And known alternate joy and pain, 
And seen the sunlight and the rain, 
And trod the mountain-top and plain, 

In different zones of earth ; 

When we have learned what love is like, 

And felt what hate can do, 
And watched the rose, so dear and sweet, 
Fall dead and faded at our feet, 
And heard the clock the hours repeat 

Till all our years are through ; 

Then wilt Thou lift us, Lord, to Thee, 

And show us from the height, 
What Thou didst mean, when Thou didst make 
The cooing dove, and poison snake, 
And plant the nightshade, and the brake, 

And set them all in sight ? 



150 



THE WAY 

Tell me, O God, is this the way, 

The path my feet must take? 
Around my feet Thy lightnings play 

And Earth's foundations shake — 
The fragile framework of my life 

Is shaken to and fro, 
The winds are cutting like a knife 

Whichever way I go ! 

Too many tongues are calling me, 

Too loud the singers sing ! 
What fate is this befalling me ? 

Thy bells too loudly ring ! 
My castles crumble one by one, 

Bright bubbles soar and break, 
Strange figures standing in the Sun 

Cry to my soul — Awake ! 

I hear them and I answer — Yes. 

I try to lift my eyes, 
To find in all this wilderness 

One truth that signifies. 

151 



152 The Way 

Reach me Thy hand, most holy One, 

I am too blind to see, 
Through midnight or the blazing noon, 

My God, remember me ! 



LOSSES 

If all the losses of the years, 

The things which you have missed so long, 
And mourned with unavailing tears, 

Came trooping back, with dance and song, 
And stood expectant at your door, 

Would you receive them back once more? 



i53 



THE MARBLE HOUSE 

This is a curious house indeed; 

No person stands in sight; 
And all have everything they need, 

If it be day or night. 

And no one asks another one 

If he be ill or well; 
And no one speaks of work begun, 

Or has a tale to tell. 

And no one sings a pleasant song, 
And love no more may plead 

Forgiveness for a word of wrong, 
Or some too careless deed. 

A watcher stands by day and night 
And leans against the door; 

The sunbeams through the tinted glass 
Make rainbows on the floor. 

There is one window and one door 
In this most peaceful home; 

And they who dwell here ask no more 
Through wider fields to roam. 

i54 



The Marble House 155 

A lonesome name is plainly writ 

Across the lintel high , 
One word — you scarce would notice it 

If you were passing by. 

And rose may bloom and snow may drift, 

But pink or white the lawn, 
No lip will move, no eyelid lift, 

No curtain be withdrawn. 



EARLIER POEMS 



157 



RECOGNITION 

O Nature, my Mother, how thoughtless and 
careless 

Was I of thy love in the times that are past ; 
But awake, and aware of thy wonderful kindness, 

I lean my tired head on thy bosom at last. 

Thy rivers went singing between their green 
borders, 

But all their low music was nothing to me ; 
My life was so young, I was taking my orders, 

My fancies went swifter than waves to the sea. 

The peaks of the mountains were pleading for 
notice ; 
The stars were my friends, and they called 
from the sky ; 
The winds at my windows were knocking like 
fingers ; — 
O where was my heart that it could not reply ? 

Come haste thou to me, most Merciful Mother, 
Bidding me rest in thy beauty and calm ; 

Taking my part, and, as something akin to me, 
Healing my hurts with beneficent balm. 

i59 



i6o Recognition 

Nature, thou kind one, I love thee and praise 
thee; 

In sunshine or shadow, in silence or sound 
I creep to thy arms. Like an Indian hunter, 

I list for thy voice with my ear to the ground. 



AT NOONDAY 

O friends, dear friends! what mean these sober 
faces ? 

The children dance around us, free as air, 
But more and more, there comes into our faces 

A wearied look, and we are grown aware 
Of solemn changes that are stealing o'er us, 

For O the years! they make their stern de- 
mands. 
What can we do? — the way is short before us, 

And closer, closer we are clasping hands. 

We scarcely knew when the sweet morn departed; 

A wondrous light was over earth and sky, 
And on we sped, careless and happy-hearted, 

Nor answer made to her " Good-bye, good- 
bye.' J 
We miss her now, the changeful years endear her, 

Through golden mists we watch her where she 
stands ; 
She looks and smiles, but never will come nearer, 

Then closer, closer let us clasp our hands. 

We thought the sun was standing still above us, 
A changeless thing, safe anchored in the sky; 
ii 161 



1 62 At Noonday 

It moves at last, and now, if any love us, 
We call to them "Noon, too, is passing by!" 

Along the grasses do our shadows lengthen, 
The winds blow fresh from undiscovered lands; 

Now, now indeed, all tender ties should 
strengthen, 
And closer, closer we are clasping hands. 

The song of birds is sweet and sweeter growing, 

The rainbows bend more brightly in the sky ; 
We slowly walk, but we are surely going 

Through wider gateways, as the years go by. 
O little children ! dance and sing around us, 

Not one of you our story understands; 
We have borne crosses, many crowns have 
crowned us; 

And closer, closer we are clasping hands. 

Our ranks are broken, but we follow, follow, 

Along the paths that every foot must tread; 
The Heavens are near when earth is ringing 
hollow; 
Why should we mourn or be disquieted? 
O friends, dear friends, come nearer still and 
nearer ! 
Love wears her crown and strengthens all her 
bands; 
Your faces glow, your names are growing dearer, 
And closer, closer let us clasp our hands! 



SEPTEMBER THIRTIETH 

It is true, my heart is heavy, for the summer days 

are flying, 
The frost has touched the roses and they wither 

on the stem; 
Pinks, pansies, and forget-me-nots, they all are 

dead or dying, 
I hear the cruel north-wind go sweeping over 

them. 

And my precious morning-glories, in their purple 
splendor growing, 

Looking through their leafy lattice, all the world 
was fresh and fair 

And I loved to stand beside them when the east- 
ern sky was glowing, 

For they cheered me like an anthem, and they 
calmed me like a prayer. 

But to-day I look upon them and behold their 

glory waning, 
The cold rains beat upon them, they are shaken 

to and fro; 

163 



1 64 September Thirtieth 

They seem to me like human souls in awful strait 

complaining, 
As low they cry " Good-bye, good-bye, into the 

dust we go." 

Good-bye, good-bye, I answer them, my summer 
too is fleeting. 

I miss the glow and glamour that the spring- 
time only knows, 

Across my pathway I can see the autumn shadows 
creeping, 

And though a thousand years to come may bud 
and blossom the rose, 

And all the flowers may come and go, a gay 

procession bringing 
The freshness of the younger years, the grasses 

wet with dew, 
The pink blooms on the apple trees with birds 

among them singing, 
And fleecy clouds, like angel wings, soft floating 

through the blue; 

Yet I may be so far away beyond the earth's dim 

border; 
So thick a veil may hang between these mortal 

days and me, 
How do I know if I shall mark the seasons in 

their order, 
Or gladden when the winds blow warm across 

the land and sea ? 



September Thirtieth 165 

And though within the wondrous world to which 

my soul is going, 
Are lips forever smiling sweet and hearts forever 

young, 
And in the gracious atmosphere fair blossoms 

always blowing, 
And " Glory, glory, glory' ' is the song forever 

sung; 

Yet I cannot help but sorrow when the summer 

days are going, 
I seek the sunny places, and I love them more 

and more, 
And dear and dearer still to me these simple 

things are growing — 
The vines that shade the windows and the flowers 

beside the door_ 



A STORM AT NIGHT 

The gas-lights flicker in the rain, 

The wind comes roaring down the street, 

And wrestling with the storm amain, 
The door-yard trees, like souls in pain, 

Our human sympathies entreat. 

The sky is black with warring clouds 
And all his thunders mutter low, 

While here and there, like fiery brands 
From the Almighty's open hands, 

The leaping lightnings go. 

'Mid such an awful storm at night, 
While all creation groans around, 

All earth and time sink out of sight ! 

As thought on thought, in solemn flight, 

Goes yearning up the dim profound. 

How hushed are all our passions now! 

Ambition's fever dies away, 
Strength takes the helmet from her brow, 

And sitting in the ashes low, 
Pride blushes over yesterday. 

1 66 



A Storm at Night 167 

The soul looks through the vague expanse, 
And stirs her chain, and tries her wings, 

And often with a fleeting glance, 
Beholds her high inheritance, 

Among the everlasting things. 

Rave! rave ye winds o'er sea and land! 

Our pulses to your music throb ; 
Through Nature's temple, vast and grand, 

Peal on! and make us understand, 
The awful immanence of God. 



LITTLE MISS FANNY 

Little Miss Fanny has fallen asleep, 

No need to step softly, her slumber is deep; 

'Twas just at the dawning, she called to us low, 
And whispered "Good-bye, I am ready to go, 

I lean on the arm of the Mighty, and He 

My Guide through the valley of shadows will 
be." 

So she passed on before us; the great world 
around 
Is throbbing and calling, she hears not a 
sound : 
Her work is all ended, the rise and the fall 
Of life's tidal waters she heeds not at all. 
O, strangest of all things! when over her breast 
These pale slender fingers in idleness rest. 

How much we shall miss her; a hundred might go 
From wide, shining circles of fashion and show, 

And the world be no poorer in goodness or trust, 
In patience or meekness, but O, when this dust 

Unto dust shall be rendered! how many will 
say, 
(< A cloud has come over the face of the day." 

1 68 



Little Miss Fanny 169 

She was always so earnest, so kind and so true, 

So patient with others, so ready to do 
The work that lay nearest her, taking her 
place, 
With so willing a heart and so smiling a face, 
That oft when the heart of the stoutest would 
fail, 
She would stand in the name of the Lord, and 
prevail. 

How much she has suffered! the griefs she has 
known 
Were whispered in secret to Jesus alone, 
And hope's blessed song-birds would soar like the 
lark, 
'Til dear little Fanny could sing in the dark, 
For, somehow, there flourished wherever she 
went, 
The beautiful blossoms of joy and content. 

We look on her features, 'tis true, they are plain. 
They are wrinkled with years, and disfigured 
by pain, 
But we loved her so well, that no painter could 
trace 
With softest of colors, so pleasant a face 
For us to look on, as this statue of clay, 

This picture of peace that we watch o'er 
to-day. 



170 Little Miss Fanny 

In the quiet room yonder, while memories crowd, 
Two neighboring women are making a shroud; 
"Tis only of muslin — not costly and rare 

Is the robe, that in death, little Fanny will 
wear, 
But the women are smiling; they think, as they 
sew, 
Of the wonderful robe that is whiter than snow. 



BREAD UPON THE WATERS 

Mid the losses and the gains, 

Mid the pleasures and the pains, 

And the hopings and the fears, 
And the restlessness of years ; 

We repeat this promise o'er, 

We believe it more and more : 

Bread upon the waters cast 

Shall be gathered at the last. 

Gold and silver, like the sands, 

Will keep slipping through our hands; 

Jewels, gleaming like a spark, 
Will be hidden in the dark; 

Sun and moon and stars will pale; 

But these words shall never fail : 

Bread upon the waters cast 

Shall be gathered at the last. 

Soon like dust to you and me, 
Will our earthly treasures be; 

But the loving word and deed, 
To another in his need, 

171 



172 Bread Upon the Waters 

They will unforgotten be, 
They will live eternally : 
Bread upon the waters cast 
Shall be gathered at the last. 

Fast the moments slip away, 
Soon our mortal powers decay, 

Low and lower sinks the sun, 
What we do must soon be done; 

Then what rapture if we hear, 
Countless voices ringing clear : 

Bread upon the waters cast 

Shall be gathered at the last. 



YOUR MISSION 

If you cannot on the ocean 

Sail among the swiftest fleet, 
Rocking on the highest billows, 

Laughing at the storms you meet; 
You can stand among the sailors, 

Anchored yet within the bay, 
You can lend a hand to help them, 

As they launch their boats away. 

If you are too weak to journey 

Up the mountain, steep and high, 
You can stand within the valley 

While the multitudes go by; 
You can chant in happy measure 

As they slowly pass along — 
Though they may forget the singer, 

They will not forget the song. 

If you have not gold and silver 
Ever ready at command; 

If you cannot toward the needy 
Reach an ever open hand; 

i73 



174 Your Mission 

You can visit the afflicted, 
O'er the erring you can weep, 

With the Saviour's true disciples, 
You a tireless watch may keep. 

If you cannot in the harvest 

Garner up the richest sheaves, 
Many a grain, both ripe and golden, 

Oft the carelesss reap'er leaves ; 
Go and glean among the briars 

Growing rank against the wall, 
For it may be that their shadow 

Hides the heaviest wheat of all. 

If you cannot in the conflict 

Prove yourself a soldier true, 
If, where fire and smoke are thickest, 

There's no work for you to do. 
When the battle-field is silent, 

You can go with careful tread; 
You can bear away the wounded, 

You can cover up the dead. 

Do not then stand idly waiting 

For some greater work to do, 
Fortune is a lazy goddess, 

She will never come to you; 
Go and toil in any vineyard, 

Do not fear to do and dare, 
If you want a field of labor, 

You can find it anywhere. 



ANNUALS AND ACORNS 

He plants an annual, you plant an acorn, 

Both will be beautiful, by and by; 
Sealed in their sepulchres, veiled from your 
vision, 

Alike for a little while they lie. 
Softly the sunlight will fall where they slumber, 

On them will filter the rain and dew; 
Standing together, you look where you laid them; 

Counting the moons as the Indians do. 

A brief waiting only; the brown earth will open, 

Up from its grave will the annual rise ; 
He who is standing so patient beside you, 

Will look at his treasure with joy in his eyes. 
He'll pluck a gay blossom to wear in his bosom, 

Its beauty and fragrance will please him an 
hour; 
The seed that he planted has come to perfection, 

Not long did he wait for his fair little flower. 

Now what will you do, for your acorn grows 
slowly, 
So slow that its growth must be counted by 
years; 

i75 



176 Annuals and Acorns 

There's no one to praise it, and more and more 
lowly, 
You grow as you water the plant with your 
tears; 
You know that its roots are in league with the 
granite, 
You know that its branches will seek for the 
sky; 
But O the long strain on your faith and your 
patience ! 
Your hair is like silver, the years hurry by. 

At last you lie down in your life's western cham- 
ber, 
All watching is over, your hope has come true; 
And smiling you look at the mighty oak 
branches, 
Now waving between the red sunset and you. 
O what was the waiting, and what was the weep- 
ing! 
Now, now that the day of your crowning has 
come, 
For in the near Heaven are many tongues crying, 
1 'Thou planter of acorns, well done and well 
done!" 



THE GRAPES OF ESCHOL 

Among the tribes, the weary tribes, we wander; 

The way is long, complainings fill the air; 
With God so near, we fear the kings of Edom, 

By smitten rocks we yield us to despair. 
The seas gape wide and make for us a pathway, 

We hear the cry of Pharaoh's drowning host, 
But mists roll up, there's discord and confusion, 

And far away is Canaan's peaceful coast. 

Then do we see that walking close beside us, 

With steady step, and eyes that onward look, 
Are those who went before us to that country, 
And brought us grapes from Eschol's wondrous 
brook; 
Their faces shine, their lips are always singing, 
The winds of Canaan have their foreheads 
fanned, 
Alike to them are sunrise and sunsetting, 

Their feet make haste, they have beheld the 
land! 

O thanks and thanks, a thousand times repeated ! 

We know your names, ye valiant, faithful few; 
Your lowest words are sweet as Heavenly music, 

Ye searched the land out better than ye knew. 

12 177 



178 The Grapes of Eschol 

When through the camp there rings a cry for 
"Egypt/; 

And all our tribes sway backward in despair, 
We turn to you who bear the purple clusters, 

For still ye say "Surely the land is fair." 

We pray you, friends, walk closer still beside us; 

Talk to us often of the way ye took, 
When ye beheld the citrons and pomegranate, 

And plucked the grapes that grew by Eschol's 
brook. 
If doubts, like evil birds, fly on before us, 

And clouds obscure the path that must be trod, 
Speak low to us of Sinai and its thunder, 

Repeat the name of Israel's mighty God. 



BEAUTIFUL HANDS 

Such beautiful, beautiful hands ! 

Not wondrous white nor small, 
And you, I know, would scarcely say 

That they were fair at all. 
I've looked on hands, whose form and hue 

A sculptor's dream might be; 
Yet are these aged, wrinkled hands 

More beautiful to me. 

Such beautiful, beautiful hands ! 

Though heart were weary and sad, 
These patient hands kept toiling on, 

That the children might be glad. 
And I could weep, as looking back 

To childhood's distant day, 
I think how these hands rested not, 

When mine were at their play. 

Such beautiful, beautiful hands ! 

They're growing feeble now, 
For time and pain have left their mark 

On hand and heart and brow. 
179 



180 Beautiful Hands 

Alas ! alas ! the nearing time 
And the lonesome day for me, 

When 'neath the grasses, out of sight, 
These hands will folded be. 

But far beyond this shadow-land, — 

And many a friend is there — 
I know full well, these dear old hands 

Will palms of victory bear! 
Where crystal streams, eternally 

Flow over golden sands, 
And where the old are young again 

I'll clasp my mother's hands! 



MY MOTHER'S PICTURE 

How many times, as through the room I hasten, 
Without a thought of other days at all, 

I lift my eyes, and straightway I am standing 
Before her picture, hanging on the wall. 

Almost it seems her pleasant voice is calling, 
And I am fain to answer, "yes, I hear, 

All earthly sounds shall be to me as silence, 
If you will speak, O mother, mother dear." 

No answer comes, I hush my breath to listen, 
But still the eyes with patient, steadfast gaze, 

Look into mine; they pierce through flesh and 
spirit. 
I bow my head and blush beneath their rays. 

For she is wise with wisdom that appalls me, 
The solemn secrets of the grave she knows, 

And high above, by God's own hand uplifted, 
Through wondrous ways of His own Heaven 
she goes. 

Beyond all change, and safe from time's mutation, 
And grieved no more by earth's forlorn com- 
plaints, 

181 



1 82 My Mother's Picture 

Thou pictured face, dim semblance of my mother, 
How dost thou look among the crowned saints ? 

So far ! so far ! Once, if I faintly called you, 
Or laughed, or wept, you were so quick to 
know; 

All else might fail, my mother's love was certain, 
Now, dying e'en, your touch I must forego. 

Thou there, I here, and I know not what spaces 
Beyond the grave's green width divide us two; 

Nor of the times unnoticed and unnumbered, 
That must go o'er me ere I look on you. 

But I am coming, I shall find you, mother; 

Sometime, somewhere, when His great will is 
done, 
And I am fit to stand once more beside you, 

To your high place I shall have leave to come. 



MY CHILD 

thou great world ! so full of lights and shadows, 
Of doubts and fears, of hopes that wax and 

wane, 
Of lonely deserts and of green oases, 

Of mirth and music, bitter tears and pain ; 

1 look far off adown thy tangled mazes, 

But mists are floating and the clouds are piled, 
And I can stand upon no mount of vision, 
To trace the pathway of my little child. 

I pray thee, Worlds deal kindly with her ever, 

And do not fright her in her tender years! 
Hold back thy storms, let them not beat upon her, 

Dim not too soon these soulful eyes with tears. 
If far away among the dim to-morrows, 

Dead leaves are rustling where her feet must 
tread, 
Let all thy breezes prophesy of summer, 

And all thy birds sing joyful overhead. 

Angels of God, pitch your white tents above her! 

And let her feel, whate'er the future brings, 
That all the air is throbbing with your presence ! 

And when the evening, o'er her pathway flings 

183 



1 84 My Child 

Shade after shade, still walking close beside her, 
Let your " Praise God" ring out so loud and 
clear, — 

A hymn of Heaven among the earthly noises, — 
That all her soul shall hush itself to hear. 

Thou Sword of Truth, flash night and day before 
her! 

Should falsehood weave its meshes for her feet, 
Should poison fruitage hang alluring o'er her, 

And lying voices bid her pluck and eat; 
Then thou good Sword, flash swift through all 
disguises, 

Point out the place where error lies concealed, 
And O, to win the soul's immortal prizes, 

Strike thou for her on life's great battle-field ! 

Thou King of kings, Jesus, Thou son of Mary! 

As once of old, Judean mothers came, 
Bringing their children, praying Thee to bless 
them, 

So come I now, my errand is the same; 
In arms of faith I hold her up before Thee, 

The world, O Lord ! how wide it is and wild ! 
What can she do? How can she live without 
Thee? 

With all Thy blessings, bless my little child ! 



"LINCOLN HAS FALLEN!" 

Lincoln has fallen ! 
Toll it, ye bells, over valleys and mountains; 

Wail it, ye winds, as ye sweep on your way; 
Moan it in sadness, lakes, rivers, and fountains; 

And all ye blue waves, on the beaches at play, 
Bear it over the sea — a most terrible burden; 

Oh, never before such a tale did ye tell; 
The tempest was spent, and at hand was the 
guerdon, 

When out of a clear sky, this thunderbolt fell ! 

Lincoln has fallen ! 
With his hand on the wheel, while the wild storm 
was beating, 
How firmly he stood, with his calm, patient 
face 
Lifted up to the sky, as ever entreating 
The Lord of the tempest, to lend him His 
grace. 
All around him the leaden hail rattled, and 
loudly, 
And wild, o'er the deck, swept the breath of 
the gale; 
And we looked on our pilot so gladly and proudly, 
But see! here he lies to-day, helpless and pale. 

185 



1 86 " Lincoln Has Fallen ! M 

Lincoln has fallen ! 
For the old flag he died : we will wrap it around 
him! 
He died for the truth; deeply traced on his soul 
Was the law of the Lord, and He surely will 
crown him 
A King, while the years of eternity roll. 
O " People that prayed for him," tenderly take 
him; 
O ''state that he loved, " let him sleep on your 
breast; 
Though hearts break within us, we cannot awake 
him; 
Tread lightly, speak low — let the President 
rest! 



IS YOUR LAMP BURNING? 

Say, is your lamp burning, my brother? 

I pray you, look quickly and see; 
For if it were burning, then surely, 

Some beam would fall bright over me. 
There are many and many around you, 

Who follow wherever you go ; 
If you knew that they walked in the shadow, 

Your lamp would burn brighter, I know. 

Upon the dark mountains they stumble; 

They are bruised on the rocks, and they lie 
With white, pleading faces, turned upward, 

To the stars in the pitiful sky. 
There is many a lamp that is lighted, 

We behold them anear and afar, 
But not many among them, my brother, 

Shine steadily on, like a star. 

If once all the lamps that are lighted 

Should steadily blaze in a line, 
Wide over the land and the ocean 

A girdle of glory would shine ! 
The darkest of places would brighten; 

The mists would roll up and away, 
And Earth would laugh out in her gladness, 

To hail the millennial day ! 

187 



SOMEBODY'S WORKING FOR 
SOMEBODY 

The times are hard, the world is cold, 
There's lust for power, there's greed for gold, 
And hearts are bought, and hearts are sold — 
But Somebody's working for Somebody. 

In lonely places, far and near, 
The tangled paths to smooth and clear, 
Unthanked, unnoticed, year by year, 
Somebody's working for Somebody. 

And eyes may weep, and arms may ache, 
And hopes may die, and hearts may break, 
But still, for Love's unfailing sake, 
Somebody's working for Somebody. 

I pray you say these plain words o'er, 
Repeat them oft from door to door, 
By night and day, on sea and shore — 
Somebody's working for Somebody. 



1 88 



"THE MISTLETOE BOUGH" 

Far back among the misty years, 

I heard the sweet old song; 
I was a careless, happy child, 

Scarce knowing right from wrong ; 
But O the tender, mournful words, 

That through the twilight rang; 
And O the lady, fair and tall, 

Who sat alone and sang ! 

She charmed me with her lovely voice; 

Her hair was backward blown ; 
She sat upon a doorstep low, 

And it was near our own; 
But there were whisperings in the air, 

She was not "wise" or "good." 
No little child might speak to her 

In that fair neighborhood ! 

How strange it was ! I looked at her, 

I could not understand; 
I felt so far apart from her, 

Yet longed to take her hand. 
189 



igo "The Mistletoe Bough " 

I would have asked about the song : 
Where was the "Castle Hall"? 

And what the "Holly Branch, " that shone 
Against the "old, oak wall"? 

Where is she now, that lady fair, 

In whom no child might trust ? 
I think her very grave, to-day, 

Is leveled in the dust. 
I wish that I had gone to her, 

Not knowing right or wrong, 
And laid my hands on hers, and said, 

"I thank you for the song." 



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